


Under His Spell

by RudexAndxNotxGinger



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Light BDSM, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Plot Twists, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, True Love, Voodoo, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2018-12-17 08:53:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11848203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RudexAndxNotxGinger/pseuds/RudexAndxNotxGinger
Summary: Young Dean Winchester goes it alone to New Orleans, Louisiana, on a job for the family business, where he makes an unlikely acquaintance. Little does he know that the handsome fisherman knows a lot more than he originally lets on. Once the plot is revealed, however, will Dean still carry out his plans or will he be too far under the spell?Rated Explicit for sexual content, language, and violence.Positive, polite, and constructive encouragement welcome in the comments!





	1. Gumbo

Curry. Dean loved the smell of curry and seafood. A beautiful conglomeration of spicy and fishy aromas permeated the entire establishment, warming him from the inside out.

 _The one good goddamn thing about taking this job._ Dean thought bitterly. As good as he was feeling at the moment, in a restaurant, getting ready to order an ungodly huge bowl of seafood gumbo, he felt an overall throb of emptiness. It was no more than usual, but now that he had a moment alone, to eat in peace for once, it felt worse. There was no teenage angst-ridden Sam to deal with, and no alcoholic douchebag of a father to deal with either. He should be relieved, he knew. But instead of peace, he felt bored; stir-crazy even.

A waitress handed him a small piece of cardstock on which the simple menu was written in calligraphic ink by a skilled hand. The menu included: Gumbo, $8/$12; Jambalaya  $10/$12 Beignets $2; Combo platter  $20/$25

The menu came in options of a small or large portion, and despite the simplicity of it Dean found himself undecided as to whether or not he wanted a large portion. He was very hungry. But if he had leftovers he didn’t want them to go bad. And if he so happened to take someone back to his hotel that night, carrying a Styrofoam box home wasn’t exactly the sexiest thing on earth.

 

The waitress was just about to come back to his side of the bar counter when a man suddenly sat down on the neighboring barstool next to Dean.

The man was much older than Dean but of indiscernible age and had shoulders that went on for miles. His light brown hair peeked out from a black cab hat and his graying beard was well trimmed. The man’s face was firm, but in some way, kind.

Dean would not have paid this man too much attention, ordinarily, but the man in question was actually paying Dean much attention, right from the moment he sat down. But he wasn’t being measured up, Dean realized; the man seemed to casually regard him, almost as if he already knew Dean.

The man leaned forward, much to Dean’s surprise, and whispered very closely in his ear,

“I’m gonn’ to be takin’ you home tonight, mon cher.”

And with that, he leaned back to normal posture again, and tipped his chin to the nearby waitress to order food.

Dean was simply too stunned to say anything. Never had he met anyone, man or woman, who was so forward.  The waitress took the man’s order, which Dean frankly did not hear due to his mind being elsewhere, and she then stared expectantly at the stunned hunter, waiting for him to order.

Dean eventually got with the program, and the first words the stranger ever heard him say, most definitely not the most intelligent he’s ever spoken, “I um… errr… will have what he’s having.” He stuttered with a little nod towards the mystery man not eight inches from him.

The waitress smiled a little knowing smile, gave an almost imperceptible wink and shuffled off.

 

“Well…” The man’s Cajun accent was thick in every word he spoke.

“I took you for the adventurous type but I didn’t think bull testicles would be your thing.”

“Wait – what?!” Dean instantly looked for the waitress among the crowd of workers, hoping to stop her before putting the order in with the cook.

“Relax, mon cher. I’m only kiddin’. You should have seen the look on your face, though.”

Dean became quiet, not knowing what to make of this man, who had just propositioned him and then bamboozled him only within sixty seconds.

“You ordered the gumbo. The large one, so I hope you’re hungry.” The man still had a sultry glint in his eyes; like all of this was part of his seduction technique.

“Do you do this often?” Dean decided to be just as forward as the stranger had been with him.

“Eat gumbo? Yes, almost e’ery day. It’s the best in town, here; real good after a long day on the water.”

“No, I mean pick up guys by saying you’ll be ‘taking them home’ the first second you meet them?”

“I was just statin’ the facts, darlin’. I happen to know for sure that tonight we’ll be going back to mine, and that I’ll be fuckin’ you good. Best you e’er had, I reckon.”

Dean scoffed, for multiple reasons. One, he could not believe the balls on this guy. The gall it took to be so certain… Dean could hardly believe this was happening. Two, the man was talking about this in _public_. The restaurant was nearly packed, and they were just about shoulder-to-shoulder seated with other strangers. Three, and most important to mention, he was _never_ the bottom. Literally _never_.  And this Cajun hunk not only assumed that Dean would willingly go home with him, but that _he_ would be the one doing the fucking.

“Look, let’s get one thing straight here, bud. I’m a _top_.”

The man looked completely unfazed by Dean’s show of bravado.

“Look, darlin’ I don’t make t’ rules. I just tell it like it is.”

“Then what makes you so sure?” Dean asked, almost at the end of his rope with this guy. And what he said next made his very first line seem tame. And it was the last thing Dean would ever expect from a man like him.

“Because I’m a fortune teller; I see t’ future from time t’ time. And before I even set foot on the dock this ev’nin’ I knew that I would meet you here; right now; and that by midnight t’night I would make beautiful love with you.”

Dean instinctively looked at his watch: 8:15.

“Well…” Dean tried not to look squeamish at this point; ‘fortune tellers’ really got on his nerves. He knew they were all fakes; and using the charlatan tactic to hook up with him? That was even more irritating.

“You’ve got just under four hours to convince me.” Dean knew he wouldn’t be convinced; or that he _couldn’t_ be convinced. Winchesters were known for being stubborn.

The waitress brought two enormous bowls of gumbo and a proportional glass of ice water. Dean immediately dug in, and seconds later he was groaning.

“Oh God, this _is_ good.”

“I told ya, mon cher… I’d ne’er lie to you.”

“And I’ll bet you would tell me you’d never lie about being a fortune teller as some story to take me to bed.”

“That would be a fact as well. Just ask an’one ‘round here. They all know me as the local ‘voodoo’ man; people come to me for this ‘n that, ask me to tell them their future. Most of the time I have to give them some canned answer, because I don’t get premonitions ‘bout e’ryone. But anytime I’ve given a specific prediction, it’s always come true. Down t’ the letter.”

“Well you must feel very special.” Dean was at the level of patronizing, as was his way when he was met with something he just didn’t understand. Like this guy: a surely sailor, a voodoo user and fortune teller, blatantly flirting with a barely-legal young man in a restaurant where he is apparently well known. It boggled Dean’s mind but he was anything but willing to show it.

 

They ate their gumbo in relative silence after that. Dean couldn’t help glancing back at the guy every few seconds. He was handsome, in his own way; massive jaw but it suited him. But he wasn’t the sort of guy Dean would take home for his first time with a guy. No siree. Dean had plans to eventually find himself a cute, petite long-haired blond boy to take home and fuck. He figured it couldn’t be much different than fucking a girl.

But being a bottom? Dean could hardly stomach the idea.

“What’s your name, mon cher?” The man was over halfway done with his bowl of gumbo when he finally asked.

“Dean. You?”

“My name’s Benjamin Lafitte. Most people call me Benny.”

Dean looked ‘Benny’ up and down again. The name really fit him; it fit him like a glove.

“So, Benny, I assume you fish? I mean, when you aren’t predicting the future and making voodoo dolls.”

“Botchio.”

“Huh?”

“They’re called botchios, Dean; not voodoo dolls. And yes; I work on a shrimping boat: Our Lady Suzanna. She’s a fine boat I should show ‘er t’ you sometime.”

“I don’t plan on being in town for very long.” The truth, surprisingly.

“Oh? And what are you in town for?”

“I’m on a job for my family's business. I don’t expect it will take long.”

“What kind of business? I know this town better than an’one I know. I could help you out.”

“I doubt it.” Dean clammed up then, although he was feeling unusually loose-lipped and open with Benny. Something about him just exuded the warm sense of trustworthiness and goodwill.

“Suit yourself.” Benny’s words were neutral and passive. He took no offense to Dean’s withholding information.

A waitress came by for the check, and to Dean’s utter surprise (and relief) Benny made no motion to pay for his meal; a gesture many people use to cause a sense of obligation in the other person; most often while they’re trying to bring them to bed. Dean knew this tactic well because he used it himself a time or two.

“Hope you have a nice night, gentlemen. We’re closin’ up now though so you’d better scoot off.” The young waitress informed them kindly.

Dean looked at his watch. Amazingly, time had flown by quickly and it was already 9:45.

But, his stomach stuffed full of delicious gumbo and rice, Dean felt he had no qualms about taking his leave. Perhaps he would go for a walk before ending up at his hotel.

He nodded his head in acknowledgement to Benny and left. He felt relieved and quite smug when the sailor made no move to follow him out. He just tipped his hat to the young hunter and then turned away.

Dean walked nonchalantly down the streets of hot-breezed New Orleans. Going to Louisiana in September was not the best idea. But unfortunately there wasn’t much he could do about it; when there was a job to do, someone had to do it no matter the time of year. It was amazing to him that even at quarter to ten in the evening it could still be so humid and hot. Even the breeze annoyed him.

The young Winchester was so caught up in his distaste for the weather that he didn’t notice someone loosely tailing him. He walked a few blocks more before he took a turn down an alleyway, in an attempt to take a shortcut to his hotel. He didn’t know the city well at all, but he knew the general direction of the main road that would take him to his motel, so he thought cutting across would be wise. Little did he know, that he wandered into a very rough neighborhood, riddled with gangs and drug deals and impoverished, desperate individuals. And he was walking right down _their_ alley.

The figure who followed Dean to this very spot was suddenly much, much closer, and before Dean knew what was happening he heard a harsh, high pitch whistle.

In an instant, the quiet night was ruined by loud bangs and clattering of metal; trash bins getting thrown about in a struggle Dean was all too underprepared for. He was sluggish from having eaten so much, and the four or five unknown assailants seemed dead set on tackling him to the ground, assumedly to kill, rape, mug, or all of the above.

Dean was punched in the face repeatedly by a very strong, yet lithe street rat covered in old green tattoos. The intense pain made Dean’s knees go weak, and finally he fell to the ground, toppled over by the weight of the dog-pile style attack. Sharp nails clawed at him while bony hands rifled through his pockets. They took his leather jacket, the fuckers. It’s not like he would need it, considering the current hellish heat, but it held sentimental value; it was his Dad’s jacket.

They also took his wallet and small wad of cash. It was about half of the money he had to his name; the other half was well hidden inside his Impala.

 “Hold him down, Jiju, I’ma pull his pants down..”

Dean gulped, swallowing a good amount of blood as he did. The crumbly asphalt grinding into his cheek smelled like cat piss and sewage. He was afraid, although he wouldn’t admit it to himself. He thought for sure that he was going to get raped; There were five people holding him down, clawing at him like animals, and he felt someone roughly pulling his pants down his legs.

Dean was just about to try to scream, when suddenly there was a voice.

“Wete kò nou nan men l '!”

 It was familiar, but the language spoken was not. Dean figured it to be Creole, since a sizeable portion of the people in this part of New Orleans was from the Caribbean.

Dean’s assailants noticeably paused their current actions. He felt his own pulse in his aching head and he could keep time with its beat. One…two… three seconds.

Then another string of words.

“Si ou manyen l ', mwen pral touye tout moun nan ou.”

This phrase seemed to strike a sort of fear in the people holding Dean firmly to the ground. One set of hands lifted off of Dean’s body almost instantly. Then another. And another. Soon Dean was set free, and the gangly figures disappeared into the night as quickly and mysteriously as they had appeared.

“ _Humans_ , man…” Dean said bitterly to himself as he scraped himself off of the pavement and righted his pants. His mouth still trickled with blood. His wallet was gone, as was his jacket.

 

“You alright, mon cher?”

Dean froze. He knew he had recognized the voice. His hero; Benny. Just his goddamn luck…

“Did they hurt you?” The stocky fisherman was much closer now, and genuine concern flooded his features. It looked good on him. But Dean didn’t want pity. He just wanted to be rid of this guy.

“I’ve had worse. I’ll be fine.”

“Looks like you might need a few stitches.” Benny indicated a large gash on Dean’s cheek, caused by a sharp ring on the street rat’s finger, no doubt.

“I’ll be fine. I know how to take care of it.” Dean tried to nip this thing in the bud, wherever it was going. He knew Benny would offer to help him out; _to nurse him back to health_.

“Suit yourself.” The man said again, completely passively.

Dean was taken aback by Benny's resigned, non-pushy behavior and attitude. It kind of made him like the guy. A lot. It made him feel like he actually could take the guy up on his unspoken offer for help. Because it was always the insistent ones you had to watch out for. People who were too eager to help usually had an ulterior motive. This guy though… he almost seemed to not give a fuck either way. No, that was an incorrect assessment. Benny actually seemed like the kind of guy who wanted to help, but he was okay with whatever Dean wanted; Dean could make any decision he wanted. He had all the free will in the world.

Dean liked that idea. He liked it a lot. His family had almost always been about manipulation and meddling; free will and personal decisions were misnomers where he came from.

“Hey, you know…” Dean couldn’t even believe the words as they came out of his mouth. “I guess I could use some help with this.” He indicated his bloody and not yet swollen face.

“Do you… do you have a suture kit?”

Benny nodded and turned to walk away.

He didn’t say another word, and Dean followed him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Thought I would put some energy into this Young Dean/Benny Lafitte pairing. It's hot af. The second chapter gets real steamy, don't you worry. 
> 
> Haitian Creole translations:  
> “Wete kò nou nan men l '!” = "Get away from him!"
> 
> “Si ou manyen l ', mwen pral touye tout moun nan ou.” = "If you touch him I will kill you."
> 
> If any readers are fluent in Haitian Creole, please help me correct this if there are errors.


	2. Hot Sauce

Dean didn’t really expect to see an old, dilapidated and creaky hut on the water. He forced himself not to expect it, since that was in every sense of the word, a stereotype. But that is very much what he found, and the end of his long walk across town, following on Benny’s coattails.

The hut was no more than a few hundred square feet, made of old, nearly rotting wood, and it was right on the shore of Lake Ponchartrain. Dean wondered what this guy would do during a time of high water. Did he have to evacuate? Would his entire hut be submerged?

 

“Nice place you got here…” Dean gave an obligatory compliment to fill the silence.

“Thank you.  I have a camper I stay in during high water times, but it’s been a while since I needed it. Pret’ sure there’s a whole village of weasels livin’ in it bah now.”

Dean smiled a little smile, amused by Benny’s carefree attitude and lifestyle. He couldn’t help but feel a little jealous.

Benny opened the old creaky wooden front door with glass-paned windows and immediately felt around on the kitchen table for his lantern. Within a few seconds the oil lantern sprung to life with a steady, warm glow that lit up the whole kitchen.

Dean didn’t want to seem snoopy, but the entire hut was really something to behold. From the raw wood cupboards to the rock-and-mortar countertop, every inch of the place looked both old and homemade. It was quaint, and Dean instantly found it to be homey. It wasn’t creepy, or voodoo-looking. A couple of glances around revealed that there were no ‘botchios’ in sight. No sigils, warding totems or gruesome animal parts; just a cute, old-fashioned hut with minimal resources.

They both removed their shoes and socks, putting them in a small spot next to the door. Dean followed Benny’s lead in the sock-removal part. He thought it was odd, but then again he didn’t care to get his socks all sandy either. The floor was not filthy, but not exactly sterile.

Benny took a small white metal box from a cupboard and opened it quickly. He rifled through it and finally pulled out a small metal foil packet, about the size of a condom wrapper. But it wasn’t a condom wrapper. It was a suture kit. Benny took a few other items from the metal box, including iodine and gauze.

Dean took a seat in one of the kitchen chairs and was surprised at how sturdy it felt despite the rickety look.

 

“Now are you gon’ let me help? Or are ya doin’ this solo?”

Dean looked a little sheepish. He knew he was capable of doing it himself. But his past experience told him that stitches done by someone else always turned out better; less scarring in the long run and the knots held better. They seemed to hurt worse, however, because the pain would come at unexpected times. But it was usually worth it.

“Do you mind doing it? I can walk you through it, if you need.”

“No, nonsense. This is hardly ma first time doin’ this either. In fact, you’re usin’ up ma last kit. I used t’ have thirty-five.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. He watched as Benny got the things lined up and ready.

“Jesus. Why so many times?” Dean winced as the first wad of iodine-soaked gauze touched his seeping wound.

“Well, let’s just say in addition t’ being a bit of a voodoo man, I also help my friends who get themselves in t’ certain types of trouble; stabbings, drugs, gunshot wounds.”

Dean braced himself for the first prick when he saw the curved needle coming in towards his face. Benny’s hands were steady, and he was very grateful for that. There was almost nothing worse than the needle jostling back and forth through your flesh. John Winchester taught him that much. The fucker had the nerve to try to stitch Dean up while shaking from alcohol withdrawal.

But Benny was both gentle and firm at the same time. He didn’t hesitate to make the first prick, and Dean hardly winced when it happened. The first stitch was in after seemingly three seconds, and the remaining two went in without a hitch as well.

Dean picked up the conversation where it last left off.

“Seeing as you know so many _outstanding citizens_ around here... Were those people friends of yours? The ones that attacked me?”

“No, not ‘t’all mon cher. They know _of_ me, however, and my voodoo capabilities. In fact they may fear a romanticized, imagin’tive version of me, but I hardly care to correct their misconception of ma abil’ties, ‘course. It helps me get by.”

“Yeah. And… thanks for saving me, by the way.” Dean couldn’t get himself to be wary of Benny, no matter how many mentions he made to his voodoo usage. Any witchdoctors Dean had ever crossed paths with were either fakes, or so very real that they were too far gone to stay on the good side of magic, if there was such a place.

But with Benny, Dean couldn’t make any sense of it. Benny seemed so good willed, and kind. Was he actually a voodoo man or was this all just like playing house? Maybe it was “real” to Benny. Be it akin to children mixing mud in a bucket and calling it pie; it was not really _real_ ; just play and pretend, but not necessarily a _lie_. Because Benny came across as many things, but a con was not one of them.

“You are lucky I followed you. I knew you were headed the wrong way.”

“What? Was that another one of your _premonitions_?”

“No. I saw you head right into the dangerous part of town. I know it all too well.”

“Oh.”

“It was just a matter of time before you were gon’ get int’ trouble. I figured I should follow an’ make sure you got to where you were goin’ without ending up with a knife in your neck.”

“Yeah well… I don’t suppose there’s any way you can get my wallet back, is there?”

Benny chuckled; it was a deep, sexy chuckle that admittedly made Dean feel a surge of lust on the inside.

“’M sorry mon cher. That wallet is gone for good. I might be able t’ help you with funds, if that’s what you’re worried ‘bout.”

“No, it’s okay I have that part covered alright. I just can’t believe I let my ass get handed to me. Those fuckers really got the jump on me.”

“Don’t go beatin’ yourself up, darlin’. I just got done stitchin’ you up _once_.”

The hunter smiled at Benny’s sense of humor.

Despite the light topic of conversation, there was a tension between the two of them; and it was so thick it almost made it hard to breathe.

Benny cracked another joke, and this time Dean  let one of his whole-face smiles break loose.

"Aw, now that's somethin' beautiful." Benny said unexpectedly.

"What?" Dean went straight-faced for a moment.

"That smile you did jus' now. It was gorgeous. You have an enchantin' smile, Dean. You smile with your eyes; it's sweet. I like it."

Dean braced his jaw in hopes of somehow staving off the blush rising to his cheeks. No one had ever called any aspect of him beautiful. It was... odd. And pleasant.

In a brief train of thought, Dean's eyes closed for just a second, and in that instant he felt the scratch of Benny’s beard against his cheek; against his lip. His eyes remained closed, despite his heart rate picking up pace and his mind racing with nerves.

Benny sealed their mouths together like he did everything: gentle and firm; unafraid and sure.

Dean didn’t know what the fuck he was doing but he kissed back. He had never kissed a dude before, and had no idea how to maneuver the whole facial hair thing, but he did his best. It felt good; he liked being desired by this mysterious, gentle giant. He wasn’t going to let the guy fuck him or anything, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t have some fun…

Right?

 

 

Benny helped Dean up from his chair and outright lifted both of his legs to wrap around his waist. Now this was a first for Dean. He’d done this to women, but he’d never before had the pleasure of being carried without once breaking the kiss.

The fisherman brought them to an even smaller room, which contained a full sized mattress that almost reached from one wall to the other. Dean was gently plopped down onto the bed and instantly enveloped by Benny’s much taller, stockier body.  The kissing lasted for ages. Dean felt beard burn developing on his chin but he didn’t care. They were French kissing now, and what that Cajun man knew what to do with his tongue… Dean could never, and would never try to put it into words. His cock was pulsing with desire and it too was getting sore from friction.

Benny read his mind and deftly unzipped the Winchester’s jeans and pulled them and the boxers down and off Dean’s legs. The t-shirt came off next. Dean was now completely naked, but not ashamed at all of his young, scarred body. Benny unbuttoned his own jeans and unzipped his fly, but he was momentarily distracted by the impressive erection poking into his firm stomach. He bent over to take’s Dean’s big cock into his mouth.

The sensation was entirely unexpected, but all too welcome. Benny was proving to be an extremely talented and attentive lover. The warm, smooth glide consuming his cock was the best feeling he’d felt in far too long. Strong, rough-textured fingers played with his balls while his lover took his time laving the hard cock with his wet tongue.

“God, I want to fuck you.” Dean confessed with a gasp.

“Mmm…” Benny moaned as he slid his mouth off slowly. “I would love that, mon cher. But ‘m wearing too many clothes...”

“I can fix that.” Dean eagerly sat up and began pulling Benny’s cotton tee off his body, over his head. Next came the pants and underwear. Dean couldn’t help but stare when he got a full, unobstructed view of Benny’s cock. And fuck, that man was built like a Greek God. And not just under his shirt but below the belt, as well.

Benny groaned when Dean grabbed his cock. The younger man was completely inexperienced when it came to sleeping with men. He’d literally never touched another man’s dick before. It was an odd sensation for him but not unpleasant. He moved his hand experimentally up and down the huge member. It was longer than his own, which by itself was impressive, and also thicker.

“Feels good, darlin’.” Benny whispered encouragement in his sweet, husky Cajun accent. He reached for something sitting on a small bedside table within arm’s reach: a little treasure box. He flipped it open with one hand, keeping the other on Dean’s shoulder. In a second Dean saw what Benny was after: a bottle of lube. The Cajun man flicked the bottle open and poured a generous amount of the liquid on his hand and also gave some to Dean.

Taking Benny’s lead, Dean stroked Benny’s cock while the other did the same for him. It felt fucking amazing, and before even a few seconds had passed Dean was groaning and panting with pleasure.

But this was hardly as far as he wanted to take this. He wanted to fuck Benny good and hard; show him who was _really_ a top, and that Benny could screw his ‘premonitions.’

Dean abruptly let go of Benny’s cock and he got up from his sitting position on the bed, consequently forcing his own cock out of the other man’s grip.

“Get on the bed.” Dean ordered with a smirk.

The Cajun man acquiesced readily, getting onto his hands and knees in the middle of the bed.

Dean put one hand on Benny’s hip and with the other he felt between the man’s firm buttocks to see what he had to work with. He knew anal sex would be a little bit different, but it couldn’t be _too_ different, right?

Slick fingers found a tight, nearly impenetrable ring of muscles and Dean could barely breach it with just one finger. It slid in all the way, and the action earned what sounded like a keen from Benny.

Dean took the likely-embarassing noise as a good sign and he added more lube to his hand in order to wriggle another finger into the impossibly tight ass.

Benny tensed, and he muffled a hiss with the soft cushion of the mattress.

“Relax, Benny. You’re friggin’ gonna break my fingers if you don’t.” Dean only half-joked.

“Sorry, Darlin’. It’s… Been a while.”

“It’s okay. Just take a deep breath.” Dean was not about to reveal the fact that he basically had no idea what he was doing. Once he felt Benny relax he withdrew his fingers and just for good measure he applied more lube. Without a single word or cue to his partner he pushed gently into the tight heat.

“Ohhhhh… fuck.” Dean gasped. The warm, slick passage was nearly strangling his dick, it was so tight.

Benny didn’t utter a word, merely a few pleasured grunts that fluctuated with each slight push and pull in and out. Dean was in heaven. The pleasure boiling up in his gut threatened to build up to a climax much sooner than he anticipated.

Trying not be a neglectful lover, the younger man reached his hand around to massage Benny’s huge cock. He was slightly surprised to find that the erection had waned to a mere half-staff, and Dean took it as a clue to step up his game. He was being a real lousy top so far, but fuck… all of his knowledge, talents, and strategies went out the window the moment he put his dick in that tight hole. All he knew was the near crippling pleasure that hurled him to the edge of sanity and perhaps an inch further.

“God, Benny I don’t think I’ll last long. You’re just too fucking tight.” Dean picked up the pace of his hips, hoping that an increase of frequency in the painful tightness around his cock would eventually just turn into pain, and therefore it would help him stave off his orgasm.

Benny did not respond with words, merely a whine of a pitch Dean didn’t think the gruff sailor capable of.

Dean’s plan was not working. Despite his valiant efforts his orgasm was only seconds away. With the help of his slick hand he managed to get Benny to harden a little more while he fucked in and out of him at a brutally fast pace. It wasn’t rough, by any means, just fast. And deep; _gods_ , he was deep. Dean’s balls slapped vulgarly against Benny’s perineum with every thrust inside.  

He knew he was going to come before Benny; something he prided himself in never doing when with a woman. But this… this was just _so_ much better. _Too_ much better, as a matter of fact.

“Oh fuck… Ben-” Dean was cut off by the sheer force of the climax that took over his body. He felt his hips buck of their own accord while he shot what must have been copious amounts of cum into Benny’s ass.

Benny gave another keen when he felt Dean all but collapse against his back, seeking support.

“Oh God…” Dean sighed in absolute reverie. He refused to come up with any way to apologize for finishing early. Apologizing was the least sexy thing to do in bed, especially if you meant it. And he would mean it, so that meant he had to really keep a lid on it.

Dean sat up, albeit groggily, to take care of the slight bit of mess he felt developing around his junk.  His softening dick slowly slipped out of its warm, slick sheath and Dean used a towel that was conveniently placed on the small side table to briefly clean up.

Benny noticeably shuddered and in the dim light Dean could see the ring of muscle attempting to tighten up to normal size. The hunter felt no disgust or squeamishness about what they had just done. He would do it again in a heartbeat if his refractory period wasn’t a factor.

 

“I guess your ‘premonition’ was a little off, this time. But hey that’s okay. I kind of have a way of tempting fate. I think it runs in my family.” The young hunter said smugly.

All of the euphoric hormones still swimming around in Dean’s brain made him lax. He hardly expected what happened next.

Before Dean had a second to register what was happening, Benny shot up from his place on the bed and after a confusing blur of motion Dean found himself getting tackled to the bed, face pressed into a pillow almost too far to allow air into his lungs.

“ _Mmmmmph!_ ” Dean more exclaimed than objected. Benny lay his entire body weight on Dean’s much lighter, smaller body while he made quick work to tie Dean’s hands to the bed posts using lengths of rope that were already tied there. The poor lighting lended well to this sneaky move, as Dean was sure he would have noticed something like that earlier, if not for the dim room.

“That’s where you’re _wrong_ , mon cher. 'Cuz my, my; look at the time.” Benny forced Dean’s chin right so his eyes were level with Benny’s wrist, where the glow-in-the-dark analog watch clearly read: 11:45.

Dean grunted, trying not to reveal how much he regretted his cocky remark not twenty seconds earlier. Foot-in-mouth syndrome: another thing that ran in his family.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a little bit of dub-con on its way, but it is NOT a non-con, okay?  
> Hope you enjoyed the interesting chemistry these two studs bring to the table.  
> Plot is also on the way. I promise. And plenty of smut. Also a promise.


	3. Jambalaya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean makes progress on his hunt and reflects on the magical evening spent with his Cajun lover.

Dean Winchester hated crime scenes. As interesting as they were, the fresh ones were always crawling with cops, and the ‘hunter-worthy’ murders usually attracted a few FBI spooks, and occasionally CIA or NSA.

But this time, he would be poking around a cold crime scene. So other than the fact that the body and most of the evidence would no longer be actually at the scene of the crime, Dean was more than a little happy to explore completely unhindered by all the stiffs in uniform asking to see credentials. Because as much as Dean was talented at spinning a good tale and lying through his teeth, no amount of fibbing could overcome his current genetic hurdle: his youthful looks. Now finally eighteen years old, Dean could hardly pass as a university student let alone an FBI agent. Once he dressed up as a CSU tech and got away with it, but it was a close call.

Youth was a gift, but in his line of work it was mostly a curse.

The doors to the house/crime scene were rigged with a fancy security device that would alert security personnel if anyone tampered with the door or knob. So that took lock-picking out of the question. But you know what they say about doors…. The ol’ hunter proverb version went something like: “If a door closes, there’s probably an open window around somewhere….”

Dean was grateful for his lithe, slim body when he had to squeeze through a tiny bathroom window in order to enter the empty house.

The house was huge; it almost qualified as a mansion. The sheer height of the ceilings made the place feel fifty times bigger than it actually was. Dean immediately went to the kitchen: the place where the victim died, if the tabloids were anything to go by.

Rust-brown patches of dried blood still remained in odd, smeary patterns across the otherwise spotless kitchen. Dean pulled the folded-up tabloid out of his back pocket. The headline read in its usual dramatic prose: “CEO found dead: _literally_ puked his guts out!”

Unfortunately, the tabloid was not exaggerating this time. The man had completely, mysteriously, puked his guts out. A CSU employee dished to the tabloid for money, and consequently lost his job. But so harrowing was the scene he had to catalog, that the guy was going to resign anyway.

Apparently, the victim lost almost his entire small intestine through his mouth. Now that kind of death didn’t exactly qualify as natural cause; that was for damn sure. Dean could only imagine the crazy, wacky theories the medical examiner must be coming up with.

But they could speculate all they wanted. Dean wasn’t there to help the authorities.

He was on a witch hunt.

 

 

After searching the entire mansion from top to bottom, Dean still had not turned up a single hex bag. He started to get a little desperate around the two hour mark. He looked at the CSU catalog or items found, and nothing fitting the description of a hex bag was on the list. So if the cops didn’t have it, and he couldn’t find it in the house, where _was_ it?

Then it hit Dean… According to the police report that he bribed his way into getting, the victim had an untouched bowl of bran flakes in a bowl. But there was no mention of a bran flakes box in the evidence catalog… That meant the tidy, possibly OCD CEO placed the cereal box back into the cupboard before he even poured the milk.

Dean didn’t waste any more time. Inside the neatly organized kitchen cabinets he found the bran flakes and ripped the cardboard box open.

Amongst the explosion of cereal scattering across the counter, a little brown leather pouch came into view.  _Finally!_ Dean felt a victorious glow in his chest and he popped the hex bag into his pants pocket for safe keeping.

 

About an hour later, the young hunter found himself wandering around the part of town where Benny lived. He never intended for things to go the way they did with Benny. And even after the fact, he didn’t intend to ever see him again. But there Dean was, meandering about in Benny’s beachfront neighborhood, debating knocking on the door like some angst-ridden, lovesick teenager.

As many eighteen year old young men know, there always exists a struggle between two heads: the one atop the shoulders, and the one between the legs. All too many times, the latter wins.

This was one of those times.

 

The hut looked unoccupied. But it was getting late. The sky was becoming a beautiful swirl of orange and purple as the sun began to set. Perhaps Benny was still out on the shrimping boat.

Dean peeked in the window and it was there he observed a note sitting on the table. It took a bit of squinting but Dean _definitely_ saw his name at the top of the piece of paper. Overcome with curiosity, he turned the doorknob and found it unlocked. He stepped inside, one foot in and one foot out, and leaned closer to read the note fully.

It read: “ _Dean, please make yourself at home. I’ll be back shortly after you’ve read this._ ”

Dean rolled his eyes. Was this another one of Benny’s parlor tricks? Anyone could write a note. If Dean hadn’t showed up the note would have just gone to waste. But since he did come, it would look like Benny _knew_ Dean would come around.

Following Benny’s suggestion, Dean made himself at home. He decided he could use a cup of coffee. He tinkered around with the propane countertop range until he finally got a flame going. There was no running water so he used water from the big Culligan jug sitting on the floor labeled “drinking water.” The kettle would take a little while to get up to temperature, so in the meantime the hunter began to snoop.

The kitchen cupboards held nothing conspicuous, save for a few canisters of spices labeled in a different language. He opened them and cautiously sniffed each one. He sneezed once, but other than that the spices seemed to be normal and not dangerous in any way.

Once he was satisfied that the kitchen held no voodoo paraphernalia, he moved on to the tiny bedroom.

Being back in the Cajun man’s bedroom only made the memories of the night before even more prominent in his mind. He couldn’t help the reactions his body had when he saw the sheets, still strewn about as if he’d only just reluctantly rolled out of bed to set to work on his case. Dean would never admit it, but he got an erection just thinking about what he and Benny did together; or rather, what Benny did _to_ him. God, it was fucking incredible…

Dean snapped himself out of his daze so he could get some more investigating done.

There were about a dozen small boxes underneath the bed, and Dean knew there wouldn’t be enough time to rifle through all of them. He couldn’t risk getting caught. Sliding two of them out from under the bed, Dean was impressed by the heaviness of it. Inside he discovered the reason for the weight: they were full of photographs. Some were old, in black and white, and others were in color. No particular pattern was evident, but Dean tried not to disturb the order just in case. Dean may not be an expert spy, but growing up in the Winchester family made him nearly qualified.

He assumed the rest of the identically shaped boxes were full of photos as well, although it _did_ occur to him at the time that so many photos were a little excessive for a man who lived alone and seemed to have little to no family ties.

Also, there were no pictures hanging on the wall or framed anywhere. Why would he keep so many pictures if he wasn’t going to hang them up?

And the photos looked so… ordinary. Some were taken from artsy angles or perspectives, but they were just general photos. Some were of people, others scenery and animals. It was an odd find to be sure, but Dean didn’t see any sort of significance in the vein of voodoo or witchcraft.

Inside the little armoire next to the bed were clothes, and not much else. Dean began to get frustrated. He’d combed every inch of the tiny hut and found absolutely no evidence of any “extra-curricular” activities.

Maybe it was all a hoax.

 

But God, it sure didn’t seem like a hoax last night. More than once Dean suspected his Cajun lover of being telepathic, in addition to clairvoyant. Benny knew just how to drive him mad with pleasure. He was hesitant at first, to let Benny do as he wished to him while he was tied up and almost completely at his mercy. _Almost_ being the operative word, since Dean was fairly certain that Benny would have taken a firm ‘no’ as an answer. But Dean was hardly interested in saying no, nevermind the fact that Benny never once asked permission. But it was like he already knew. He knew exactly what Dean needed; he knew exactly how to leave the hunter feeling like a puddle of primordial goo.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Look, Benny… I’ve never…”

“Shhh.... Darlin’. Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of you.” Benny whispered as he placed strategic kisses down his lover’s spine. The tickle of the soft beard against sensitive skin made Dean break out in unexpected goose bumps. The kisses went lower, and lower down his body until they made their way to his ass cheeks.

Strong, rough-textured hands spread apart soft, toned cheeks and kissed the hidden ring of muscle therein.

Dean gasped and arched his back, feeling pleasure and surprise equally. He’d never dreamed of having anyone doing this to him… But now that it was happening, he couldn’t imagine ever wanting it to stop.

“Fuck!” Dean exclaimed loudly when he felt a hot, wet tongue lap over his very sensitive hole.

Benny didn’t need to say a word. He slipped one slick finger inside the tight passage while still using his tongue in an expert massaging motion.

Dean hardly noticed the stretch for the first insertion, and he only felt more satisfied when he felt another finger slide in alongside it.

Benny reached for the lube, and Dean whimpered when the tongue retreated from its task.

“Just be patient, mon cher. I’ll take care of you. This will feel so good; ‘Promise..” The Cajun man slicked his cock generously with the lubricant, and the sound of it made Dean tense in anticipation.

“Mmmmpph…” Embarrassingly, that was all Dean could say. The arousal and lust flooding his system once more took away almost all coherent thought.

A blunt force was suddenly pressing insistently against his tight entrance, and the hunter tensed instinctively.

“You’ve got to take your own advice darlin’. Relax…. That’s it… There you go, just a little more, deep breath.”

If this was for anything else other than first-time fucking, Dean would have been touched by the thoughtful and patient coaching. But in this situation it was only adding to the erotic nature of the encounter. Benny and he were very much inside an unnamed roleplay of sorts, but oddly enough it was not even pretend. In this situation, Dean was the closeted submissive. And Benny knew just how to bring out the praise-slut and take him to new heights of ecstasy with very little discussion as to what was going to happen.

Benny just knew… _everything_.

And Dean was grateful, since talking about kinky shit was not on his list of things he would do with a near-stranger.

The deeply rooted macho mask Dean wore everyday was rendered moot - completely at bay - at the hands (and tongue) of Benny Lafitte.

“You’re doin’ so good for me, Dean…” Benny whispered once his cock was fully sheathed inside Dean’s tight passage.

“Fuck,” Dean responded in a high pitch mewl that he didn’t even believe came from his own throat. It just felt so goddamn amazing. Every nerve in his body tingled with pleasure and stimulation. He never imagined that getting fucked would feel like this. It was close to too much; he was on the brink of calling it off for fear of truly falling apart. He had never felt so utterly weak and powerless; and certainly never in the presence of anyone else. He was completely at Benny’s disposal; to pleasure and be pleasured.

Benny seemed to read his mind.

“It’s okay darlin’. Just let go…. Shhh… just let go…”

Dean all but sobbed as he relented, letting the full force of the pleasure course through him and just letting his responses flow without inhibition; namely his gasps and exclamations of pleasure as Benny’s big, thick cock moved in and out of him minutely.

The thrusts got longer and rougher the more it went on, and Dean lost all memory or knowledge of what sort of strange, likely girly, cries and moans flowed from his mouth. Benny was acutely aware of all of them, and he took great pleasure in forcing the man who formerly wielded the tough-guy act into sounding like a bona fide, cock-hungry porn star. And the way Dean was unconsciously moving his hips to the rhythm of the thrusts, like he simply couldn’t get enough, while simultaneously moving away like it was just too much pleasure for him to handle…

“Mmm… Benny…” Dean whined when he was close to his peak. Although it was a mystery as to how he knew it was his peak; since the entire experience felt like one big orgasm up to this point. But it was getting more intense; it was impossible to relax and there was a metaphorical ball of pleasure building in his abdomen that indicated to him that he was not going to last much longer.

“Go ahead, Dean. Come for me. Come all over my sheets. I want to see you do it untouched, darlin’.”

Dean would never know why the dialogue turned him on so much. Perhaps it was the gentle, whispery, coaxing tone Benny used. All Dean did know, was that he was most certainly sent hurtling over the edge into maximum ecstasy. And it was most certainly triggered by Benny’s soft orders telling him do so.

Benny came soon after Dean, and the young hunter gave a small cry of discomfort as Benny thrust in especially deep and stayed there, emptying loads of cum into his lover’s tight, sloppy ass.

“Ohhhhhh fuuuuuuck….” Was all Dean could say. His brain had officially been turned to oatmeal by this man. Never had he ever imagined such ecstasy to be even possible, let alone that it would happen while getting fucked by a guy he only just met.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Benny said in his usually soft tone as he laid down on top of the completely lax Winchester who lay prostrate on the bed because he was still tied up.

“I don’t think you _need_ compliments to know that was…. absolutely fucking fantastic.” Dean’s words were slightly muffled by the pillow at his head, but Benny heard them all the same.

“You’re right, mon cher. I already knew that would be the best you e’er had, remember?”

Dean stiffened his shoulders a little; mostly because of the soft beard tickling his skin, but also because he realized Benny was referring again to his premonition.

“I remember. Will I come across as dogmatic if I still don’t believe you?”

Benny chuckled as he placed a few light kisses on Dean’s shoulder.

“No darlin’… In fact, I would expect nothin’ less.” Benny’s voice held a decent amount of amusement, but also a tone that implied he knew things he would not reveal. Or at least, not yet…

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Dean Winchester was drawn out of his thoughts by the shrill scream of the tea kettle. He took the couple of steps into the kitchen and prepared the French press coffee decanter by scooping coffee grounds into it and pouring the hot water on top.

The door suddenly swung open, and Dean just about jumped out of his skin.

It was just Benny. The door swung open forcefully due to the beachfront evening wind, and it nearly forced the door off its rickety hinges.

“Sorry, mon cher. Didn’t mean t’ give you such a fright.” Benny closed the door with a little difficulty. He sat down two bags of what looked like groceries.

“You didn’t.” Dean lied while he gulped down the rest of his heart that was previously in his throat.

“You makin’ coffee? Well that’s wonderful I got a few things at t' store and brought home some fresh shrimp from work. ‘Was thinkin’ ‘bout makin’ some jambalaya. You e'er had it?”

Dean shook his head and stared at the steeping coffee grounds instead of at his lover. A sudden wave of intimidation hit him from seemingly nowhere. He had felt this feeling before, when he was much younger. He felt it when he was in the presence of a crush; the conglomeration of nervousness and the inexplicable fear of embarrassing himself in some way.

Feeling it again scared Dean. As a hunter, he knew it was not good for him to develop attachments. It was even worse for him to fall in love. Now, it was hardly at that point yet, but it could get there. God, Dean could see it going there very, _very_ quickly.

“What are you thinkin’ ‘bout, darlin’?” Benny was suddenly right in front of him, close enough to reach up and kiss.

Dean scooted his ass onto the countertop and looked at Benny directly this time. Damn, he could get lost in those sea blue eyes…

“I was just… you know… thinking about last night.”

“Yes?”  Benny said expectantly. He smoothed his hands up and down Dean’s arms affectionately.

“It’s just that I’ve never done anything like that before. I… can’t even believe that it was me doing it. I mean, I don’t regret it… and fuck knows I enjoyed it... But I didn’t even know that I was _into_ that sort of stuff.”

“Mmm…” Benny smiled his small, comforting smile.

Dean continued, feeling atypically communicative.

“And where I come from, what we did last night would have been considered… well let’s just say it is not exactly _celebrated_ where I come from. And it’s hard for me not to think about what my family would think of me…”

“Never be ashamed of what you like, Dean. There’s no shame in liking to be loved, worshiped… _fucked_ …”

Benny ran a hand through Dean’s hair and he kissed the side of his face, almost reverently.

“There’s nothin’ wrong with liking to be praised for bein’ a good boy, or taking a big cock and begging to come.”

Dean shivered with arousal and Benny took the response as permission to kiss him senseless. Dean’s mouth was instantly assaulted by a dominating tongue, and he closed his eyes to focus on the sensations. He knew this couldn’t last forever. So why not enjoy it while he could?

“Take your pants off.” Benny rasped when their lips separated.

Dean pawed at his button and fly, trying to comply as quickly as possible. He was still sitting on the kitchen counter, so wriggling the jeans off his ass took a bit of doing.

The moment his rumpled jeans slid down his thighs, Dean realized that he’d just made a big mistake. For out of his godforsaken shallow pocket, fell the hex bag he’d found earlier. And it plopped right onto Benny’s shoe.

“Wha-?” Benny said in a quiet tone as he bent down to pick up the little pouch. Dean did not miss the change in Benny’s posture; he recognized the item for what it was. He held it between his thumb and forefinger as he looked at Dean, puzzled.

“ _Where_ did you find this?”

Dean gulped.

He was so fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Lots of plot on the way, and yes, more smut too. And maybe some LOVE, too? Stay tuned, and stay sexy. xoxo ~RudexAndxNotxGinger


	4. Beignets

Dean could only stare, dumbfounded at his own rookie mistake.

“I’ll ask you one more time, sugar.” Benny’s voice remained soft, but it was ten times more serious.“Where did you find this?”

He didn’t want to lie to Benny, but his mind was still grappling to think up a reasonably believable one.

“What makes you think I _found_ it?” Dean mentally slapped himself for that one. What a genius….

Benny’s puzzled expression turned into concern.

“Well… I really can’t think of any other reason you’d have one of these in your pocket.”

 “I....” Dean left the word hanging like a lonely apple on a dying tree.

“Look, you’re not in trouble. I just want the truth. I would ne’er lie to you; I hope we c’n have an agreement t’ be honest with each other.”

“I found it under your bed. I’m sorry. I was snooping in those boxes, and I was going to ask you what it was but-”

Benny cut him off, “You were going through my stuff; and you found it _here_ , in a box.” He didn’t sound upset, just more serious and also making sure to clarify just what Dean was saying.

“Yes. I’m sorry I broke your trust.” Dean’s remorse was not so much pretending as it was an accurate projection of just how sorry he was for getting _caught_.

“That’s not so much what I’m concerned about, darlin’. This here is dangerous witchcraft; please do _not_ mess with it. You could really get hurt; _or_ end up dead.”

Dean did his best to look scared or surprised; he tried maybe a little too hard.

“I… I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

He wished that whole episode hadn’t happened just then. He should have been smart enough to dispose of the hex bag before Benny got back… Now everything was fucked up. _He_ had fucked up.

Benny looked as though he were about to say something, but instead he just tossed the hex bag onto the floor, crushing it with his rubber-soled hiking shoe and tossed the obliterated remains into the trash bin. Then he moseyed over to the bags of groceries and took a few things out.

“We’d better get goin’ on the jambalaya before this meat goes bad.”

 

 

The jambalaya was amazing. No, it wasn’t just amazing, it was _mind blowing_. Dean had never tasted a dish that was so thrown-together looking, and yet harmoniously tasty at the same time. Benny was no doubt a very skilled cook.  

“Who taught you how to cook like this?” Dean asked only after spouting countless accolades concerning the food.

“I sort of picked up bits n’ pieces from friends. I know a lot of good cooks. Then I add a little bit of personal touches. I’m glad you like it.”

“ _Like_ it? God, it’s the best food I’ve ever had. You can cook for me any time, Benny.”

“Well ‘m glad to hear that.” Benny’s voice went really soft, like it did when he was deep in thought.

“Look, Dean, there’s somethin’ I’ve b’n meanin’ t’ ask you.”

“Hmmm?” Dean swallowed the very last morsel of seasoned rice that could possibly fit into his stomach.

“I know you said you weren’t stayin’ in town very long. But I… I can’t deny I’ve already taken a shinin’ to ya. I guess I really would like t’ know what your plans are so that I… can prepare m’self for when you’ll be leavin’.”

Dean gulped. He got a knot in his stomach and he was sure the three helpings of jambalaya crammed into it didn’t help matters.

“I’m still not sure, Benny. Could be tomorrow, could be next week. As soon as I get my job done I’ll be heading back to Kansas.”

“Oh.” Benny sounded dismal in contrast to his usual light hearted, sweet charm.

“I don’t want to sound heartless, but… I don’t want to get too involved… In my family we don’t typically have long term relationships. It’s better that way.” The last comment was really Dean trying to convince himself, not Benny. Because if he was honest with himself he knew he would be very sad to leave the man when the time came.

““An’ I don’t s’pose there’s an’thin’ I could do t’ change your mind…” Benny stated rather than asked.

Dean genuinely felt bad that he had very well may have broken Benny’s heart.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I just can’t leave my family hanging, no matter how much I’ve enjoyed my time with you.”

“I know, Dean. I guess I just… was foolishly hopin’ we could spend some more time together.”

“Well we _can_ , for now. I still have to get my job done. I figure I’ll be gone all of tomorrow but tonight and the night after I can still be here.”

“I guess we should make the most of it, then hmm?” Benny wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and started gathering the plates.

 

Dean smiled and assisted Benny in cleaning up after supper. It was a bit of a tough process to wash dishes, as Benny’s hut had no running water. They heated up some sea water in a metal pot and used the kitchen sink. It had been a long time since Dean had gone without such basic amenities. It made him really appreciate the seedy hotels he grew up in.

He did find it a little novel, not having running water, but he could imagine it would get old after a while.

 

“With no running water how do you shower?” Dean just had to ask.

Benny smiled at Dean’s curiosity.

 “Well I shower on the shrimpin’ boat. It has a stall shower and a couple of toilets. On the off season or on days off I heat up some water and use a hand pump t’ run water though a little piping system I got set up on the south side of my hut. It has a shower head and everythin’. The water pressure is terr’ble though, so I prefer t’ use the one on the boat.”

Dean laughed a little at the last comment.

“Why do you live like this? Is it… what you _prefer_?”

Benny paused his scrubbing in the sudsy salt water, and Dean thought for a moment that he’d struck a chord.

“I… Well let’s just say that I got used t’ a certain way of livin’. Old habits die hard.”

Dean nodded, and realized not for the first time that he had nothing else to say.

“I have an idea.” Benny said in his usual soft tone.

“Yes?” Dean was grateful for the break in awkward silence.

“I tell you somethin’ about m’self and you tell me somethin’ about you. We’ll take turns until dishes are done. It can be an’thin’ you like. The only condition is it has to be true.”

“Okay.” Dean agreed readily. “I guess I should start.”

“Suit yourself.” Benny said neutrally as he struggled to scrape the layer of rice from the bottom of the pan.

“Until last night, I’d never had sex with a man.” The fact came off of Dean’s tongue like water dripping off a leaf. Talking with Benny usually made him unusually chatty, and he was never really sure why; it was likely Benny’s calm, non-judgmental disposition.

“Well, I am glad to have been your first.” Benny said in a sweet tone.

“It’s your turn.” Dean said quickly, hoping to end any future commentary about Dean’s sex life.

“I have no family.” Benny deadpanned.

“None?”

“None.”

“Why?”

“It’s your turn.”

“But what about all those pho-” Dean cut himself short, realizing what he was just about to dig up again.

“Hmm? What was that now?”

“Nothing. It’s my turn... I um..”

“Were you referring to the photos?” Benny’s voice was still as calm as ever.

“Yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to bring up my, uh… snooping again.”

 “Naw, don’t you worry ‘bout it, mon cher. You’re a curious sort, I c’n tell. Now go ahead, it’s your turn t’ tell me somethin’. And make it good.”

Dean was still reeling from Benny’s completely amiable response. But he did his best to come up with a good tidbit of information.

“I have a brother, and a dad. My mom died when I was three.”

“’Aww, ‘m sorry. It’s no good to go through life missin’ a parent.”

Dean shrugged and continued to obediently dry the clean utensils.

 

The Cajun man broke the silence again: “Well I guess since you _did_ see those photos, and it is ma turn, I might ‘s well tell you what they’re from. They used t’ belong t’ someone very close t’ me; a ph’tographer. I kept them, since I’m all… sentimental.”

“Oh.” Was all Dean could say. He knew that he wasn’t supposed to ask questions; mainly because he didn’t want Benny to ask any of him. But he so badly wanted to ask if the photographer was even still alive. The question sat at the tip of his tongue for a full minute before he finally decided to move on and take his turn.

“I’ve never been in love.” The hunter confessed quietly.

Benny paused all movement for just a second as he processed the statement. He used an even softer than usual tone as he said , “Well there’s plenty of time for that, darlin’. Just you wait n’ see. You’re still so young. Lots of love and loss to be had yet.”

“I hope not.” Dean referred to the ‘loss’ mentioned.

“Well… _I’ve_ been in love.” Benny stated, evidently taking his turn in their little game.

“Lots of times. Gotten ma heart broken even _more_ ‘m afraid.”

Dean looked away for a moment. The conversation was getting to serious for him; too real. Even now he could feel his heart aching for Benny and the crazy, terrible things he must have gone through in life.

“Well these dishes are all done. I guess we c’n move on t’ somethin’ else.” Benny said with a hint of mischievousness in his voice.

“Oh? Like what kind of ‘something else?’” Dean played along.

“We’ll think of somethin’.” Benny smiled before he pulled his lover into a kiss. He used his tongue early in the kiss, which was something Dean found arousing.

The hunter grabbed the back of Benny’s head and ran his hand through the short hair, unable to grasp it but it still communicated what he wanted. Benny increased the intensity of their kiss and he too put a strong hand against the back of his lover’s head. Dean noticed very quickly that Benny’s erection was pressing against his hip.

In a daring maneuver, the young man pried away from the lip-lock and went to his knees. He tried not to look as apprehensive as he felt.

A long, deep groan of approval came from above as Dean fumbled with undoing the button and fly of Benny’s thick denim jeans. Once that was accomplished, Benny assisted in getting his cock out of his briefs.

Dean stared, never had he gotten the opportunity to look at a cock from this close, nor at this angle. It was fucking huge. It was hard to believe he could try to fit something like that in his mouth. But he wanted to try. And wisely, he decided to start small.

He licked the tip, which tasted salty, but not from sea water. Benny was already leaking small amounts of precum and the fact that he got this turned on just from Dean’s kissing and going to his knees was a little flattering.

Goaded by Benny’s heavy breathing and tiny moans that escaped with every little touch of his tongue, Dean let the cock go into his mouth and slid back out again. Even with his valiant effort, he could just fit half. He’d received a few blowjobs in his day, so he decided to do what he knew felt good and he grabbed the remaining half with his hand and used his other hand to massage his lover’s big, heavy balls.

“God damn, mon cher. Feels good.” Benny encouraged in his wonderful, deep husky voice.

Dean pushed himself further and worked more of the thick length inside his mouth, being careful not to use teeth or to choke. It was difficult, but he enjoyed the challenge. He also liked turning his strong, burly lover into a gasping, pleasured puddle with just his mouth.

Eventually he was at an impasse, where his jaw hurt like a bitch from the constant stretch and Benny was on a plateau of pleasure that would need a little something more to hurtle him over the edge.  He finally let the cock slip out of his mouth completely and he stood up to resume kissing the Cajun man.

“I think we should take this to the bedroom.” Dean whispered hoarsely, his throat a little sore from the recent unconventional use.

“I would like nothing more…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is plot hidden in here I swear; not just domestic fluff. All will be revealed in due time.


	5. Lobster

Dean Winchester had to get his shit together. The morning after his second amazing night with Benny, the young hunter felt utterly unmotivated. Even after a second cup of coffee, he could hardly get the motivation to get his boots on or to comb his hair.

But he managed it. God help him, he finally did it.

He canvassed the neighborhood all day, inquiring to the locals about suspicious activity, asking about the purchasing of the specific ingredients he found in the hex bag. Not entirely surprisingly, no one was exactly thrilled to answer questions, and the overall vibe he got from everyone was that of annoyance.

When he got back that night, he told Benny that he would probably be leaving town the next day. After all, no more crazy shit had happened since he showed up. No one else had puked up their own small intestine, nor had any other unexplained deaths occurred. The whole witchcraft-voodoo-hex thing seemed to have been an isolated incident and would be almost impossible to find the perpetrator this long after the fact.

Benny didn’t take the news well, and Dean ended up dropping the subject and opting to make out instead. And making out inevitably turned into something much more…. _heated_.

“Fuck, God. Benny you’re huge. Gotta… gotta be careful I’m getting fucking sore.”

“Mmmm… you feel so good mon cher. Think I could love you, Dean. Think I could love you real good.”

Dean would have normally been turned off by a spontaneous confession of love in the middle of sex, but Benny had a way of making everything sexy, and endearing.

“Yeah? You love me, Benny?” Dean encouraged while the big cock slid in and out of his tight, slightly sore ass.

“Yeah, I do love you. Don’t wan’ you t’ leave me. Don’t leave me Dean.” Benny whispered his plea in his gruff, whispery voice and it almost came across as dirty talk. Damn, Dean really had a weakness for this man…

Dean felt the heavy, comforting weight of Benny laying down on top of his back and he took the cue and laid down on this stomach, trapping his rock hard cock against the mattress. Benny rolled them slightly to the side so he could wrap his hand around Dean’s cock and stroke it beautifully in time with his perfect thrusts.

“Oh… Oh God, Benny I’m so close.”

“Want you to stay with me darlin’. Don’t leave me. ‘love you.”

“Yes. Yes I’ll stay.” Dean found himself saying in a moment of brief insanity. He was so caught up in the loving, hot sex and the need to climax that in that moment he even meant it.

“Oh darlin’ you’re makin’ me come. Come with me, Dean.  Come on my big cock.”

“Yes!!!” Dean cried out nearly at the top of his lungs. The force of his orgasm knocked every thought out of his head. He felt every tiny movement and twitch of the thick cock emptying its seed inside him.

“Ohhhhh…” Was all Benny could get out while his ecstasy washed over him like a tsunami wave.

Dean fell asleep shortly after his orgasm flat-lined into a content, sated state. Benny stayed awake for just a few minutes longer while he kissed up and down Dean’s perfectly smooth back and he cleaned the both of them up with a damp cloth.

“I’m never gon’ let you go, mon cher.” Benny whispered, almost nostalgically.

The statement fell on deaf ears, however, as Dean was completely asleep, blissfully knocked out by the amazing orgasm Benny gave him.

“Not makin’ the same mistake e’er again.”

 

 

Cold. Dean woke up feeling cold; colder than he normally would during the summer, even for being seaside as he was. The old hut was drafty, to say the least. In fact it felt as though he was standing outside, right in the face of the frigid front coming in off the Atlantic.

Benny was sleeping soundly, and at some point Dean slid out of the bed and stood over him, looking affectionately at the broad shouldered sailor. He marveled at how far he’d come; how far into this fairy tale he’d plunged himself. Never before had a relationship been so tempting; so alluring. And a week prior, if anyone told him that he’d fall under the spell of a Cajun fisherman, and make it mere inches from legitimately falling in love, he would call them bat-shit crazy. But now that it was happening to him… Now that he was actually here, in Benny’s presence and getting to know a bit more about him each day, Dean had to admit that the call of domestic life sounded awfully appealing.

He felt tired, but oddly awake, likely due to the freezing chill. He needed to put some clothes on. He and Benny were both bare-naked from their amazing romp in the sheets earlier. Their orgasms were so intense that they just fell peacefully asleep in each other’s arms, later rolling over and away only out of habit.

And it had been, absolutely, without a doubt, the best sex he had ever experienced, to date. Benny fucked him long, and sweet. He was so considerate and knowledgeable; practically psychic in his movements and timing. Dean doubted he would ever find a man so talented in bed, or such a perfect match for his needs, and his hidden kinky side.

It had been three days since he started this hunt; he’d made next to zero progress but at the moment he couldn’t bring himself to care. Benny had that affect on him.

The hunter slid his jeans on, skipping underwear because he didn’t have any clean pairs on hand at the moment. He found a sweater that sat at the edge of the bed, knowing it was Benny’s but not caring all that much. He knew Benny wouldn’t mind.

He leaned over and gave his lover a small peck on the cheek, being careful not to wake him before tip-toeing out the door, his boots loose and untied.

 

An hour later, somewhere around four in the morning, Dean stood stalk still in the middle of the no-tell-motel parking lot that he checked into when he first arrived in New Orleans. Granted, he hadn’t actually _spent_ a night there since he arrived, but he certainly didn’t expect to find that his Impala - no, scratch that his _father’s_ Impala - to be missing. There was not a single trace of the car to be seen. And Dean had never felt so instantly like a sopping wet pile of dead meat as he did right then.

 

 

“Open up!” Dean banged his fist angrily against the hotel manager’s door. The glass window rattled like thunder and threatened to shatter beneath the strong hunter’s hand.

“I swear to God, if you break the glass it’s going on your bill.” The reluctant Southern accent shouted from behind the door. A light flickered on and Dean felt little elation as the door opened.

“Where the hell is my car?” Dean barged in to the check-in office, his gaze ignoring the sleepy clerk who was still rubbing his eyes and righting his hair with his grubby fingers.

“Ummm….” The young man groaned cluelessly.

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Impala; Chevy. 1967. Where. The Fuck. Is it?”

“Ohhhhhhh….” The scrappy character smiled and he sounded more like he was tripping than sleep deprived; or maybe both.

“Yeah, ringin’ any bells?” Dean asked, slathering on the sarcasm.

“Yeahhhhh…. That thing got impounded. The lot’s for payin’ customers; sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

Dean smiled, though it was fake. It was an exaggerated patronizing smile, as he realized that the young man was high out of his gourd and would likely not react well to anger at this juncture.

“Ohhh… _really?_ ‘Cuz see I remember paying for a week; in cash, so as far as that goes, I _am_ a paying customer. Room fourteen. So I’m gonna need my fuckin’ car back. Right now.” Dean’s smile then disappeared, and so did the manager’s.

“I got no record of that, man, I jus’knew there was no one in the books, and then I looked at the lot, and there was your car, sittin’ there, so I thought I’d call the tow company – it is at your expense, by the way, I’ve got a bill in my desk drawer here…”

Dean felt like breaking this kid’s face. And then both of his hands. And then his face again.

“Look, I _know_ I paid for the room. I just need my car back and I’ll get out of your hair and you will never have to see me again. Now _what_ tow service took the car?”

“Got it right here.” The young man held out the piece of paper he pulled out from a desk drawer.

The paper was a towing receipt. The total bill read $69. Dean ripped out the segment that featured the company name and address, and then promptly ripped the rest of the paper to tiny shreds in front of the young punk.

Then without another word, Dean left, carrying nothing but his tiny scrap of paper and the hope of finding his Impala before the night was up.

 

“Dean?!” Sam’s voice squeaked on the other end of the line. Puberty was a real bitch.

“God, Dean we’ve been worried about you. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, sure I’m fine, Sammy. Just hit a few roadbumps. Some incompetent, junkie hotel manager had the car impounded and I spent all night getting it back.”

“And the hunt?” Now the voice was John Winchester’s, which was an extremely weird switch-over.

“Uh yeah. Hey dad. The hunt is going good so far. We were right, the CEO guy died from a hex bag planted in his house. I’ve talked to a few locals, voodoo people; but they won’t talk to me. Looks like I’ll have to piss off a few more and use myself as bait. That’ll be sure to suss out the real killer.”

“That’s all you got?” John sounded disappointed. Dean tried not to let his heart break.

“Yeah… Look I’ll call you soon with an update. I’m using a payphone right now so I don’t think there’s a way you could get a hold of me.”

“Alright. Stay safe. And whatever you do-”

“Don’t trust anyone. Yeah I know dad. Got it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay. Writer's block hit me while I was very ill with a serious case of bronchitis. But I'm all better now. Thanks for reading!! xoxo ~RudexAndxNotxGinger


	6. White Rice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets REALLY plot heavy, folks. So pay attention if you want the upcoming ending to make any sense at all. Thanks for reading! Stay sexy, xoxo ~RudexAndxNotxGinger

Dean hung up the payphone that stood on the curb not a hundred feet from the mechanic shop his car got towed to. He ended up paying every one of those sixty-nine dollars. The salty, sea worthy wench on the other side of the front desk was not about to let Dean go scot-free.

But now that he got his car back, Dean felt much better. He slid into the driver’s seat like it was a second-nature motion and he quickly drove away, leaving the night’s events in his rear view mirror.

Or at least he hoped he had.

 

Deciding that there would be no way he could get back to sleep, Dean decided to go for a little drive around town. It was mainly in the neighborhood Benny lived in, but he drove a little further, stretching to the surrounding outskirts of New Orleans and then back again.

Passing a small trailer park situated nearly cliff-side to the ocean, Dean felt the need to stop there. He had no idea why, but he felt inexplicably drawn to the small cliff-side cluster of campers. Some looked abandoned, while others looked newly parked on the firm, fine-dusted ground.

Dean walked right to the edge of the cliff and looked down the fifty-foot drop into the ocean. The view looked beautiful. The sun was beginning to rise and the vast pink and purple sky just about took his breath away.

A sudden harsh, yet muffled voice cut through the air like an unwelcome guest. Dean rolled his eyes when he initially figured someone was starting a row. And the argument was in another language, assumedly Haitian Creole. But his interest was piqued when he realized that one of the voices was Benny’s. He’d learned to recognize his lover’s smoky tone in either language.

Dean crept around a corner to get closer to the voice, coming from a prowler that looked like it was built in the late 80’s. He crouched just below the old, opaque window and listened intently.

Surprisingly, the man speaking with Benny continued in English this time.

“I know you’ve been lonely. Ever since that thing with Lance… I know things ended badly, but Jesus, Benny, you need to admit you’ve got abandonment issues that you’ve got t’ deal with, and you’re only making it worse. This thing with Dean is making _everything_ worse. You know it can’t last.”

“I know.”

The first words Dean heard clearly from the other person involved in this conversation; and it was indeed Benny. Dean didn’t know what to make of the conversation he accidentally came across. What he _did_ know was that he had to make himself scarce. The last thing he wanted was to get caught snooping around.

Just as he rounded the corner to hide out of sight, Dean heard the creak of a flimsy aluminum door and two sets of footsteps leaving the camper. The young hunter waited a good while, until he was sure both men were gone, and he crept back around to the door. It was unlocked, and Dean was careful to not make any noise as he sneaked inside.

If Dean had any doubts that Benny was involved in voodoo, they were dispelled the moment he took a half-second glance around the small camper. Crudely made dolls hung from the ceiling, along with bundles of herbs like wolfsbane and sage. Two boxes of various animal bones sat on the small countertop and piles of other voodoo paraphernalia sat carelessly strewn all over the place. 

A small photo caught Dean’s eye and he noticed right away the one of the men in the photo was Benny. He looked a little younger in the photo, but he was also clean-shaven, so it was unclear just how old the photo was. It looked to be about three years old at least. The other man in the photo was much younger than Benny, but too old to be a son. And the way Benny had his arm around the young man also eliminated that possibility. No, they were lovers; or at least best friends; Dean was sure of it. The photo was taken on a dock, and it looked very much like the dock Benny’s house was attached to.

This must have been an ex-boyfriend. Dean felt sorry for Benny, because the thought of such a soft-hearted sailor going through the pain of losing a lover hurt him more than he thought it might.

Suddenly Dean heard the screen door being opened, and his heart rate ratcheted up a few notches in one second flat. He spun around, and in shock he looked directly into the eyes of an equally shocked Benny.

No words were spoken for a full three seconds, as the two men sort of just took each other in, wordlessly asking what that other was doing there.

Then Benny’s composure recovered, and he looked rather remorseful; reluctant even.

“I’m awfully sorry you had to see this, mon cher.”

Dean was about to back away; do something to get away because his instincts, in that moment, were blaring high pitch to _leave_ , and to leave _now_.

But he didn’t get the chance. He felt a wet rag cover his mouth; it stunk and stung his eyes. It made him dizzy, and slowly his vision faded to black.

 

 

Dean awoke to the feeling of soft sheets against his skin and it took a him a good long minute before he realized he was buck naked under the covers. The thought alarmed him, as the memory of the night before came back to him in foggy bits and pieces.

“Oh God…” Dean groaned at the unfavorable woozy sensation coursing through his head like a centrifuge the moment he tried to sit up.

“You don’t look so good. Be careful gettin’ up, mon cher.” Benny’s voice came from the bedroom doorway, and Dean tried not to topple backwards onto the bed when he whipped his head around to look at him.

The fisherman held two steaming coffee mugs and a cute smirk was spread across his face. The sweet, albeit characteristic gesture only confused Dean even more, since his memory (or at least what he _thought_ he remembered) was that Benny had knocked him out with chloroform, or some such drug. But if he _had_ , why the hell was he back in his lover’s bed, naked?

“Good mornin’ darlin’. Did you sleep alright?” Benny genial tone never left his voice, and he handed over a cup of steaming hot coffee; just what the doctor ordered for Dean’s parched throat.

“I…. I guess I had a weird dream.”

“Hmmm? What about?”

“Well… I can’t remember properly. It’s kind of spotty; you know how dreams are, the more you think about them, the more evasive they get. I think the dream had something to do with you, and you found me snooping through your stuff in some dumpy camper and you got all weird on me and you knocked me out with chloroform.”

Benny smiled and shook his head. “Some dream.”

“What about my car? Did… did that happen? With the tow truck?”

“Yes.” Benny answered readily. “Last night you came here after gettin’ your car back and we ate dinner and had sex. We jerked each other off and kissed for nearly half an hour and you came all over my hand. It was lovely, darlin’; and very hot.”

 Dean tried hard to get his brain to line up with what Benny was saying, but no matter hard he tried he couldn’t remember anything recent but the dream… Or _was_ it a dream? Benny had motive to lie, of course. If he copped to knocking Dean out he’d have to explain why on earth he would do such a thing. The whole affair seemed comically absurd, considering what he knew so far of Benny’s character. That in mind, maybe it _was_ a dream after all…

The young Winchester decided that the only way to find out for sure was to see if he could find that camper again; to see if it was all real, or just a vivid dream like Benny claimed. But in the meantime, he had to make sure Benny knew nothing of his plans to find the camper.

 

Dean faked his way through the rest of the morning routine, and Benny soon left for work. Finally, he could breathe and think properly about his next plan of action.

The Impala got him to the ridge that he remembered from the night before. It had a couple of campers still parked there, but most of them had cleared out. Dean walked around each of them and peeked in the windows just to be sure, but his suspicions had unfortunately come true: Benny's camper was gone. But he was convinced now more than ever that his memory was not a dream and that for some reason Benny _had_ knocked him out with chloroform and then lied about everything after the fact.

One lead was down, since the camper could have been moved anywhere within reasonable distance or even burned to the ground in a junk yard, if Benny was desperate.

But he had one lead left; and that was the man Benny was talking to. He didn’t even know the man’s name, but he suspected it was someone at least _involved with_ the people he questioned. If Benny was willing to talk to the guy amongst all the voodoo mess, it had to be someone who Benny would trust with that sort of stuff. And he knew what the man’s voice sounded like. He might be able to recognize it if he heard it again.

Dean walked back to the Impala, shivering and cursing the unreasonably frigid cold. He thought the south coast was supposed to be warm.

 

When he finally reached the street where he was most suspicious of resident voodoo witch doctors and witches, Dean was starving hungry. He stopped at a small shop and ordered a large shrimp fajita that was packed to the gills with tasty shrimp and cooked mushrooms. He ate it while he walked, forgetting and not caring about the mess he created all over his hands as he walked. The first stop was a little voodoo curios store that was not much bigger than a walk-in closet. The woman there was not too happy to see Dean again, and she barely said two words to him and promptly shooed him out. The next three places he stopped at brought forth similar results.

The hunter was starting to get discouraged when he heard a voice call out to him.

“You really should not be here. One of these days you’re going to find yourself with a missing wallet and a hex bag in its place.”

Dean smirked, realizing that the man confronting him was the one he heard in the camper with Benny.

“Just looking for answers, man.” Dean shrugged, faking a casual demeanor, when really he was secretly checking his denim jacket pocket for his little envelope of cash. It was still there.

The man walked closer, keeping his face pointed at the pavement while he walked, obviously not wanting to be seen talking to a hunter.

“What has gotten into that thick skull of yours that makes you think you’ll find your answers here?”

“I’m looking for a witch who used a hex bag to make Leonard Price puke his guts out; literally.”

“That bastard didn’t get anything he didn’t deserve.”

“How do you mean?” Dean wasn’t aware of anything sketchy involving  the victim.

“Can’t tell you that.”

“Then tell me about Lance.” The sentence was met with such a tense silence that Dean could feel it in his gut.

He’d heard this man mention the name Lance to Benny the other night, and it had an extremely personal vibe around it. _“Ever since that thing with Lance…”_ was how it was put.

“Not here.” The stranger said in a low tone, and he walked down the sidewalk a little further, with Dean close on his tail.

Inside another voodoo shop, Dean was escorted back to the very back room of the narrow, mothball scented store. At least it was warm; Dean’s legs were starting to turn into ice blocks.

There the man sat down on a crate and said,

“Where did you even hear that name; Lance?”

Dean had to be honest. There was no other way to get as far into this as he needed to be.

“I overheard you mention him to Benny last night. I went into the camper later, and Benny found me and he knocked me out. Now he’s pretending like it never happened.”

“Last night. As in _last night_ last night?”

Dean wrinkled his brow and nodded.

“What the fuck!?” The man looked genuinely concerned and confused.

Dean hadn’t expected such a loud reaction.

The man shook his head and sighed, obviously realizing that Dean was completely out of the loop.

“That was _ages_ ago.”

“What?”

“Jesus… Fucking Christ.” The man kept shaking his head, wide eyed and obviously reeling. But Dean was even more so.

The man’s voice raised a little in an incredulous way.

“Do you even know what day it is today? It’s the fucking middle of November!”

Dean felt sick to his stomach, suddenly starting to realize why it was so cold outside considering he thought it was still September. In fact, the last time he looked at a calendar was his first night in that dumpy New Orleans motel. It was September 18th, then.

The helpful stranger looked almost as shocked as Dean.

“Benny and I had that argument back in late September. Later he had me ditch his camper at my other place in Baton Rouge. He said he wanted you far away from his past; at least that’s what he _told_ me.”

 Dean tried not to fall over from the shock and complicated nature of just what this man was telling him. It couldn’t be true though…. Could it?

“Then… What the hell happened during  those two months? And why don’t I remember it?”

 

“You sure as fuck got me there. I have absolutely no fuckin’ clue.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like this little plot twist. The story will be wrapping up soon stay tuned for the suspenseful conclusion!


	7. Clam

Dean smirked a little at the ridiculous idea of all of this; how the hell could he be missing two months of memories? And when did it start? Last night? That morning? Was this somehow Benny’s doing? Dean had too many questions and not enough answers and his head began to pulse with a rotten headache.

“Look, you should sit down.” The stranger said graciously.

“Thanks.”

“I feel like this has been a bit unfair. I know your name, through Benny, but you don’t know mine I’m sure. I’m Nick.”

“Nice to meet you.” Dean replied automatically, though the name just barely registered into his brain. His mind was really everywhere else but in the mood for making friends.

Nick looked to be in his thirties, and overall he seemed to be a decent guy. But Dean was hardly in the business of trusting anyone at the moment. And for good reason, too.

“Look I don’t know if you should go back to Benny, if you even _suspect_ he’s been lying to you.”

“But he might be the only one who can provide me with the answers I need.”

“I can try to help, you don’t have to go back to that weirdo.”

Dean’s brow furrowed.

“Benny’s not a ‘weirdo.’ He’s been kind to me, and… Goddamn it all, he’s terrific in bed.”

“Oh God. Too much information!” Nick said dramatically. “You gays are all the same. Everything’s about _dick_ …. _Please_ spare me.”

 

Later, under Nick’s direction, the hunter wrote down his new acquaintance’s phone number and other information in case he needed a place to stay or needed help.

“Don’t be a stranger, gay boy” were Nick’s last words to the hunter as he walked away.

 

 

Dean didn’t quite know how he felt about being called gay. He contemplated it while driving back to Benny’s place.  His sexuality was never really something he thought about. He had sex with several women before Benny, and he’d enjoyed it (granted, not as much.) He could hardly label himself as gay; perhaps bisexual; that was a thing, right? Even after his tryst with Benny, Dean knew that he would continue to pursue that high again; the ecstasy that only getting fucked good and hard can bring. He tried not to think about what his father would say. Sammy would be supportive, most likely, but John… John would beat him up and call him a faggot; perhaps force him to ‘change his ways’ and he would never admit to Dean being his flesh-and-blood ever again.

 

Dean shook his head in order to rid himself of the negative doom-and-gloom cloud that built up on his way to Benny’s. It was a few minutes past three when the hunter made it back to the hut. He had a few hours to make one last sweep of the place. He already knew that Benny was too careful to hide any of his voodoo materials inside the hut, but he had yet to check the outside. Dean checked every siding plank, looking for hinges, cubby holes; anything that could be used to hide a stash.

On the south side of the hut, Dean finally hit pay dirt. A small square had been cut into the old wooden siding, and when one side was pulled, it opened up like a cupboard.

_Bingo_ , Dean rejoiced a little on the inside.

It was starting to get dark, so Dean used a small flashlight to inspect the compartment, which was mostly a dug-out hole in the sandy dirt under the hut structure. But inside the hole was a heavy duty waterproof container, not much bigger than a gallon bucket. Dean pried open the sealing clasps and peered inside. A little chuckle of contentment shook in his chest as he realized he’d hit the jackpot.

 

 

 

Benny Lafitte Walked in the door at ten after six in the evening. His demeanor was pleasant, but tired, for about a good three seconds. After those three seconds, he saw what Dean had strewn all over the kitchen table.

The aforementioned Dean was sitting at the opposite side of said table with a smug smile across his face, clearly waiting for Benny to arrive home. He said nothing at first; just sat there like a smug little prick.

“Welcome home, _dear_.” Dean said with a hint of malice in his voice.

“Have a seat. We need to talk.”

 

Benny knew he was in deep shit when he realized just what Dean had found: animal bones, dried herbs, powdered guts, dehydrated fetus brains, a rabbit’s foot and some rare seashells. In other words: _his stash_. He had no idea what Dean had gleaned from this discovery, but judging by the very disillusioned look on his face and his faked amiability, he’d likely figured out _everything_.

“So… I had a good little chat with your friend Nick, by the way. He seems nice enough.”

“Yeah?” Benny played a bit dumb, but not completely. He could not hide his guarded, mistrusting side at the moment. He looked like someone just waiting for the “you’re-in-trouble” punch-line.

“He told me that it’s been _months_ since you and he last talked, when here I thought it was just last night.”

“I told you, you were just dreamin’-”

“Don’t you start with me.” Dean warned. “It was _September_ last I checked. Imagine my shock when it turns out it’s really November. Now where the hell did those two months go, I wonder?”

Benny didn’t respond, instead his attitude stonewalled. He was clearly not in the mood to explain.

“Well I did some digging. I knew that if two months had _really_ gone by since you had that shitty camper of yours moved to Baton Rouge, you’d obviously need to keep a closer stash of voodoo stuff.”

Dean gestured to the items on the table in a showy “voila” sort of fashion.

Benny shook his head and said, “Those are just hobby stuff, darlin’. Nothin’ that could hurt you, or an’one.”

Dean rolled his eyes before reaching to the floor and picking up a book and plopping it on a clear area on the table. The book was so old and dilapidated that merely setting it on the table kicked up a big dust cloud. The hunter opened the book to a marked page, and in the corner of his eye he could see the look of dread washing over the sailor’s face.

“The Amnesia Hex.” Dean read aloud in a teaching-voice. “Damn you’d think they’d come up with a better name than that. Let’s see here: rabbit bones? Check. Morel mushrooms? Check. Unborn human fetus brain matter, dehydrated, or fresh? Check. The list goes on, but I think you get the idea. Soak ingredients in cat blood and make hex bag. Place a small drop of olive oil on your intended victim and it will take effect in the course of a few hours, erasing all memory of the last twenty four hours.”

Dean paused, looking at Benny expectantly. The hunter was more than a little smug but he hid his smile well.

 Benny looked like he didn’t know what to say. He was dumbstruck.

 

“You can’t have thought this was going to last forever, Benny.” Dean deadpanned. “The spell was getting less and less effective every time. That’s why I started to remember that night in the camper like it was yesterday...”

Benny sighed, looking like he’d just been defeated at the biggest poker game in world history. In a word, he looked broken.

“I…. I’m sorry, mon cher. I… just couldn’t bear to be left alone again. After Lance left me I just… went a little crazy, you know?”

“I do have to admit, the whole ‘Lance’ thing did throw me off a bit, but it really shouldn’t have. I should’ve remembered from the police report that the man who discovered Leonard Price’s body was none other than _Lance_ Sutherland, his current live-in boyfriend.”

Benny looked down in shame. Dean didn’t let him off that easy.

“What? So you decided to kill your ex’s new boy toy. I get it. Everyone’s done it.” Dean stated venomously. “A bit messy method of a choice, though. Bloody viscera doesn’t clean up easy.”

“He was _more_ than just the man who took Lance from me.” Benny divulged. “He was a crook; a good for nothing scoundrel who was usin’ a fake charity t’ launder money and steal from good people. Lance was an investigative journalist and he was originally investigatin’ Price’s organization; some _supposed_ hurricane relief program. But somehow it all went wrong when Price seduced Lance and bought ‘im off. Lance broke ever’thin’ off with me and never spoke to me again. Never even came to get all his photos…” Benny looked wistfully in the direction of the bedroom, where Dean knew all the boxes of photos lay stored under the bed.

Dean bit his tongue to keep a sympathetic phrase from slipping loose. He had to keep his resolve. He had to know what happened in those two months.

“So, what? You kept me prisoner for two months because you’ve got abandonment issues?”

“Prisoner?” Benny sounded hurt by Dean’s harsh tone. “You’ve ne’er been a prisoner here, Dean. You woke up every morning thinking it was still late September. You were investigating Price’s death over and over again.”

“So you _knew_. That means you’ve been using amnesia hexes on me almost since day one; before I discovered the stash in your camper, even.” Dean considered the possibility, but he had to admit he was still a little surprised. But now it made sense why his family had sounded so worried when he called; he thought two days had passed when in reality it could have been a few weeks.

“The whole fuckin’ _town_ knew, Dean.” Benny said. “What do you think, that this was our first time dealin’ with your kind? We smelled hunter the moment you rolled int’ town.”

Dean’s heart sunk a little as he realized just how deep the scheme went.

“So…  The mugging, you bringing me home… _seducing_ me… it was all a set-up to keep me from finding out that you had killed some rich thief who stole your _boyfriend_?”

 

It was Benny’s turn to look hurt again.

“It was a set-up, at first, Dean. But I was – I _am_ – very much attracted to you. I was pretendin’ _until_ I stitched you up that night we met. I couldn’t help but kiss you. And the love we made… that was real, mon cher. I really did fall in love with you. There’s no way I could fake all that.”

“But why?!” Dean all but begged. The whole thing was still not making any sense. Dean Winchester was hardly The Law; why go through so much trouble to keep the truth from him?

Benny sighed, finally surrendering the last piece of the puzzle.

“This wasn’t all just t’ cover up my act of revenge. You see, the local Coven Alliance Council planned for _more_ hunters to come find you after you went missing for so long. The goal was t’ lure them close and kill as many of them as they could. I was supposed to stall you here, either unaware _or_ against your will. I chose the former, obviously.”

“The amnesia hex,” Dean stated aloud without realizing.

“You have no idea how sorry I am-”

“Don’t you fucking start.” Dean interrupted coldly. “And what were you going to do with me when you were done using me as bait, hmm? Kill me, too?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” Benny said calmly. “You have to know that I didn’t want an’ part in this, Dean. The Coven Alliance threatened to kill me if I didn’t comply with their demands.”

“And why would they do that? You’re the best damn witchdoctor in town, or so I hear.”

“It’s because Leonard Price was an even better one.”

“What?” Dean’s head started to reel from the maze of details unfolding bit by bit.

“He was the leader of the Coven Alliance. He was the worst kind of crook; persuasive, crafty, attractive, and… apparently charming.”

“You never met him?”

“No. I wanted nothing t’ do with the Alliance… until I had no choice.”

Dean had to take a moment to process everything that had just been dumped on him.

Was Benny telling the truth? Had he really been extorted into using Dean as bait? Was Leonard Price really a leader of a ‘Coven Alliance?’ Dean had never heard of such a thing, but it seemed plausible, especially in New Orleans, a town laced with voodoo and witchcraft.

One element was missing, however.

“What about my family? Surely they’ve already come looking for me?”

Benny rubbed his neck, looking away as he explained.

“You called a few times to give them an update, which wasn’t much. Most recently you called them to say you’d met someone and that you’d be sticking around for a little while. Your father didn’t take it well but he allowed it. You uh… didn’t specify the _gender_ of the ‘someone.’”

“And I told you all of this? Before you wiped my memory?”

Benny shrugged before saying, “Nah, the payphones in this part of town have been bugged for as long as I can remember. I have a friend who sold me the tapes.”

Deep down inside, Dean knew that he _wanted_ to believe it. He still cared about Benny, despite what he did to deceive him.

“You have t’ believe me, Dean. I love you… I would never do anything t’ hurt you, darlin’.”

“Yeah well I’m sorry I’m having a little bit of trouble believing you right now. You haven’t exactly given me any reason to trust you.”

“I know…. I do know that.” Benny murmured, bordering on a defeated tone.

Dean softened a little. He genuinely felt bad for Benny and his situation.

“Look, I am sorry I’ve been so harsh the last few minutes. I just… I have trust issues to begin with, okay? Growing up as a hunter is not easy. And now this. Even if your story checks out I don’t think I’ll be able to trust you again.”

Benny nodded, still unwilling to make eye contact.

Dean got up from his chair, and walked over to the tall, surly fisherman. He put his hand on Benny’s arm, and finally got Benny to look at him; though it was a sad, searching gaze; almost pitiful if Dean was honest.

He spoke in a soft tone this time, making sure to convey that he was at least _trying_ to cool down from the confrontation.

“If you’re interested, I have a way that you can help to earn back some of our trust.”

The usual twinkle in the corner of Benny’s eye returned, and a hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

Dean smiled a little on the inside, his brain simmering with the plan brewing inside.

Soon, all of New Orleans’ witches would know….

**You don’t fuck with a Winchester.**


	8. Sweet and Sour (Revenge)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long delay in updating. Work, real life, etc... BUT I can guarantee the final chapter soon! Real soon!!

Seeing Sam and John again was a trippy moment. In Dean’s altered memory, it has only been a few days since he last saw his dad and brother. But he knew it had been months, in reality, and Sam would no doubt have grown three inches taller in that time. His suspicions were nearly correct. Sam had changed a lot in just those two months. His hair was longer and he had indeed gotten a bit taller.

John slid out of his pick-up truck like in a manner that bordered on a casual swagger, while Sam maneuvered himself in his usual clumsy, puberty-accosted way.

“Dean!” Sam’s voice cracked as he ran up to his big brother and gave him a quick hug. Dean returned the embrace, but he was still cautious of John while he approached. He had no idea what to expect from his dad.

John Winchester simply gave Dean a small, placating smile and continued on towards the shack, where Benny was just exiting.

Dean whirled around, almost knocking poor Sam over as he grappled to introduce Benny in the most inconspicuous way possible.

“Uh… Guys, this is Benny; my friend. And Benny, this is my dad and brother, John and Sam.”

Dean tried to be casual about it, hoping that no one would pick up on the quick assertion that Benny was a _friend_.

But his worries were unwarranted. John didn’t seem to suspect anything as he briefly shook hands with the man.

“So you’re the inside man?” John got right to the point.

“I am.” Benny looked like he was still trying to muster up the courage to go through with the proposed mission.

“If we don’t play our cards right we’ll be fish food by nightfall.” The fisherman warned.

“That’s why we have you.” John looked like he didn’t much care for Benny, or his safety. Likely because Dean had let it slip earlier that their inside man was a witchdoctor himself.

Dean had no intentions of letting Benny get hurt; or anyone in their posse for that matter. But even the best of intentions can lead to huge fuck ups.

 

 

“Is this…. Really necessary?”

An hour later, Nick, Dean, Sam, and John, were sitting nearly elbow-to elbow in Benny’s tiny kitchen while getting covered neck-to-toe in sigils, warding symbols and strange spells. There were so many of them, the sharpie marker just about ran out of ink.

“Does this stuff come off?” Sam asked, sounding concerned as he looked at himself in the window reflection. He looked like he’d fallen victim to a crazed, drunk tattoo artist.

“Eventually.” Benny said casually. “We’re almost done here. Don’ worry, this will keep us safe from most of what they could throw ‘t us.”

“ _Most_?” It was John’s turn to sound concerned.

“Well funny enough, it doesn’t protect against things like knives or bullets. But voodoo and witchcraft are off the table.”

Dean smiled a little at Benny’s casual air. He was getting excited, although nervous, about going on a hunt with his lover. Hunting used to be the only way he knew how to bond; it felt good to be able to share that part of his life with Benny.

Once Benny finished double-checking everyone’s markings, he ushered everyone out of the hut and they all piled into Nick’s van.

The tension and nervous energy in that van was tangible. Benny was in the driver’s seat and although Dean was right next to him in the captain’s chair he wished he could hold Benny’s hand. He needed some kind of physical contact to calm his nerves; to assure him. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t let his dad or Sam catch on to him and Benny’s relationship –or, past relationship. Fuck, Dean wasn’t sure if he and Benny were over or not. He sure hoped not. As long as they both survived this hunt he had every intention of rebuilding trust and making up with his sultry fisherman.

 

The last thing Dean Winchester wanted out of this mission was a clusterfuck. It was supposed to be easy; get in, kill the damn witches and get out.

If it only it were that easy.

Dean and Benny hardly planned for the mess that awaited them inside the old, historic wharf. The building gave the air of an open-walled structure without really being open-walled. There was one completely open wall pointing directly into the ocean, where boats and ships used to enter straight from the open ocean to get repairs. It was also used to build full sized ships, from bow to stern. Needless to say, the place was huge.

 

_Why do the bad guys always choose creepy lairs?_ Dean thought bitterly while they took it all in from their parking spot a hundred yards away.

“I think at least once in life I’d like to take down bad guys who didn’t shack up in a massive, creepy lair.”

Dean expressed exactly what the other Winchesters were thinking. They all knew this would be a tough hunt to pull off, but the sheer magnitude of the wharf and the uncertainty of what lay waiting inside put a damper on their already waning enthusiasm.

“We can do this, guys.” Nick gave a half-assed pep talk. “Shouldn’t be too hard to get those suckers tied up, they’re so used to spells that I doubt they’ve got much muscle on them. We have the advantage now.”

And with that, the motley crew decided to leave the van, each one carrying the planned assortment of tools and weapons. According to plan, each of them except Benny carried two cans chock full of gasoline.

 

The lair seemed quiet. Too quiet. The old building didn’t lend well to sneaking inside. Every step made the boards creak and squeak loudly.

Benny was alone on the massive, enclosed upper level that hardly qualified as an attic since it was about as big as a soccer field.

“Lance.” Benny called out to the familiar face he hadn’t seen in months.

The young man whirled around, away from his desk full of CCTV monitors, looking more than a little startled.

“Benny? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I was just comin’ to check on how we were doin’ with the plan. Have you heard any’thin’ about the hunter rescue party comin’ for Dean?”

“You know I have little to do with that plan, Benny. You should really be talking to Kuja. He’s down that way, and to the right.” Lance pointed in a vague direction, mostly just trying to get Benny out of his hair.

“Yeah, alright. But maybe I told a lie. Maybe I was jus’ comin’ so I could see you.”

“Why?” Lance put on an affect of incredulity. “So that I could tell you how much I _hate_ you for killing my soulmate? Great plan, Benny. You always did have a way of setting yourself up for the maximum amount of pain possible in _any_ scenario. What is that phrase? Glutton for punishment?”

Benny frowned, trying not to feel hurt by Lance’s strong words.

“And don’t think I don’t see those sigils hiding under your shirt, there. I saw them peeking through your sleeve; you really should be more careful next time. Though I already sensed that you were immune the moment I saw you.”

“Guess I felt I had to take some precautions. Jus’ in case.”

“What is it you _really_ came here for?” Lance said impatiently.

“I miss you, darlin’. You know you broke ma heart. I was jus’ hopin’ we could…”

“We could what? Get back together? Not a chance. I would rather be put in a blender and get fed to the gators than spend another miserable moment with a sorry sap like you.”

But if Benny needed any further motivation to burn the whole establishment to the ground, then he certainly didn’t now.

This entire conversation was all an act of Benny’s part, of course. It was all a part of the distraction. Benny knew from the start that there was no way they could take out all of the security cameras and get away with it. So the plan was to distract whoever was on surveillance-monitor duty, while the others were busy taking care of the guards and pouring copious amounts of gasoline in strategic areas.

It was merely a stroke of luck that Benny’s ex lover was the one needing the distraction from the CCTV monitors. Now this, Benny could handle.

 “Is everything alright out here, boss?” Kuja stepped out of his makeshift quarters and looked straight at the two conversing men. Benny got to know Kuja during his one and only Coven Alliance meeting that he had been literally kidnapped in order to attend two months ago. Not a whole lot of dialogue exchanged between the two of them; it was mostly evil glares, due to the fact that Kuja was the one who took Benny by force, hog tied him and threw him in a van, all in an unnecessarily forceful effort to get him to the Alliance meeting.

“It’s fine, Kuja.” Lance huffed. “Benny is just here to grovel.”

Kuja scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You gay dudes; so much drama.” And with that he left, descending down the stairs where Benny knew just what awaited him at the bottom.

“Thought you said you weren’t in charge ‘round here.” Secretly, Benny already figured that Lance was the new leader. After all, he was a promising apprentice of the late witchdoctor Leonard Price, and had proven to wield formidable talent in the dark arts. Benny blamed Leonard for corrupting a formerly good-spirited young man.

Lance ignored the comment and said, “You need to go.”

“Darlin’, please. Give me a chance to show you I c’n make you happy.” Benny didn’t give Lance a moment to react. He took his ex-lover’s head in his hands, leaned down and kissed him. Getting no reaction, he continued, kissing him harder and licking into those soft lips that he used to spend hours nibbling and sucking.

Lance whimpered, as though the sudden, brash move had swept him off his feet and his stance of being repelled by Benny was slowly deteriorating.

“Baby I wanna take you home. Please darlin’.” The Cajun man kissed down his ex’s neck, where he knew there was a special spot that really turned him on.

“No, Benny. I can’t.”

“‘No’ doesn’t work for me, darlin’. I need you. Need you t’ say yes.” Benny put his leg in-between Lance’s legs, purposefully rubbing his thigh against Lance’s growing erection.

Benny moved back to kissing, which Lance reciprocated this time, though it was tentative.

“Mmm… you taste so good. Wanna taste the rest of you.” Benny whispered into Lance’s ear so softly that he felt him tremble in his grasp.

“What about that boy-toy hunter? Haven’t you two been fucking like rabbits?” Lance’s inevitably skeptical and jealous side was showing.

“Nah, mon cher. We’re jus’ friends right now. He’s scared of who he really is; has no idea how t’ please a man, either. You know I got it bad for you; always have.”

Benny put his hand right next to the hard bump in Lance’s trousers, and he let the heel of his hand nudge against it ever so slightly. He felt and heard the pleasured reaction, cuing him that he had this man right where he wanted him.

As if on cue, a sharp whistle pierced through the air. It sounded like it came from the lower level.

Lance startled for a second, looking confused for a brief second.

“What was that?”

Both men turned towards the general direction of the noise, and their eyes fell on Dean Winchester, looking unhappy and jealous as hell.

“It’s your retirement party, dirt bag.”

 

 

 

The Winchesters, Nick, and Benny all stood around the dog pile of witches they’d rounded up and effectively tied up with rope that had been soaked in a charmed mixture that Benny cooked up, rendering it witch-proof. (The immediate supply of iron chains was a little wanting.)

“That’s the last of ‘em Benny. You ready to burn this motherfucker to the ground?” Dean’s abrasive language betrayed his mildly pissed-off reaction to Benny being so hands-on with his ex, earlier.

Benny looked over all of the bound and gagged men and women, counting them silently.

“Dean we’re missin’ on-”

The fisherman didn’t even get his sentence completely finished before they were all startled by a loud **_BANG!_**

In the span of what had to be only two seconds, attentions and gazes shifted between looking at Benny, who was clutching his chest, and sweeping around the building, looking for the person with the gun. After those two seconds, everyone except Dean was concerning themselves with finding cover.

Not caring that it was an unwise move, Dean rushed to Benny’s side, only to realize that his lover was falling to the ground. In a split second move, Dean tried to slow Benny’s descent to the wood floor, with minimal effectiveness as he heard Benny’s head hit the wood almost as loudly as the gunshot.

“No!” Dean didn’t even hear himself scream as he put his hands on either side of Benny’s face, hoping to get him to open his eyes; to get Benny to look at him.

Another gunshot rung out, followed by many more, but Dean hardly heard any of it. He felt a sharp, searing pain in his side and he realized that he too had been shot. He was already in a blurry haze of pure panic, and when he used a hand to check his right side, it came back covered in dark red blood.

“Benny.” Dean knew that his own wound was serious, but Benny’s more so.

“Benny, please, look at me.” He patted his lover’s face with a bloody hand, leaving streaks in his wake.

“Don’t leave me. God, I can’t let you leave me.” Dean was hardly thinking when he leaned down and kissed Benny. He was so far into shock that he felt very little; hardly any pain from the gunshot wound, and his lips felt almost numb against Benny’s.

“I love you.” Dean’s last words came out as a choked sob, and he fell, unconscious onto the unmoving chest of his first love.


	9. Crème brûlée

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter is here! Enjoy!

Dean awoke lying on the back seat of the Impala. He knew right away that it was the Impala since he was practically raised in that car. He knew every inch, smell, texture, and quirk about it.

The car was moving, as evidenced by the constant low thrum in his ears and the occasional bump in the road.

Dean didn’t feel like talking to anyone at this point. He concluded quickly that Benny was likely dead; that he didn’t make it and that by some miracle, Dean had. And now his family was taking him far, far away from the evil place that had turned him into a slutty gay boy who fell in love with a burly Cajun fisherman.

Yeah, that was John Winchester alright; match-breaker extraordinaire.

Dean began to grieve on his own, silently, while his brother and father drove on, unaware that he was awake.

And he wasn’t for long. He passed out a few minutes after he awoke; his body was completely exhausted from the loss of blood and the trauma he’d suffered, both physically and emotionally.

 

 

“Dean. Dean, wake up.” Sam was patting his brother on the cheek in order to get him to come to.

Dean slowly opened his eyes, but he shut them again as soon as he realized just how bright it was in the room. He was lying on a hotel bed this time; John and Sam must have moved him while he was passed out.

“Where are we?” Dean asked groggily. He tried to sit up but he was met with a sharp pain in his right side.

“Kansas. Dad drove through the night. How are you feeling?”

Instead of answering, Dean warily asked “Where’s dad?”

“He went to go get food. He told me to help you use the bathroom and then to get you back in bed. You lost a lot of blood. You need to rest.”

Dean felt relieved when he learned that their father was not present at the moment.

“What happened? Did… everyone make it?” He was really asking if _Benny_ survived, but he didn’t want to make it too painfully obvious. If memory served him correctly he’d kissed Benny right in front of his father; his _very homophobic_ father. He was still feeling-out how Sam felt about the whole thing.

“I don’t know. Basically we picked you up off the floor, lit a match, and left. It’s… _unlikely_ that anyone made it out but us.”

Dean fought tears at the prospect of Benny being left for dead in a burning building. It was so unfair.

“I’m sorry.” Sam looked truly remorseful.

“I know you two were… _close_.”

“Yeah. It was kinda fucked up, but I loved him.”

“I’m sorry…” Sam said again. “Look I know dad’s gonna want to pretend it never happened, but if you need to talk about it, I’m here for you, okay?”

“Thanks. I think I need some time alone on this one though, okay?”

“Alright. But I _still_ need to help you get to the bathroom.”

“Fucking _finally_.”

 

 

 

A month passed by, and Dean was back to his old self again. Winchesters were hard sons of bitches to kill. He spent most of his time working at Uncle Bobby’s scrap yard, restoring a few old cars and forgetting all about hunting for the time being. He even sometimes forgot about his gunshot wound, but every stubborn bolt and lug nut would send him a twinge of a painful reminder each and every time.

He thought about Benny every day.  He thought about his dad, and how he would hardly speak two words to Dean now that he knew his son was gay. And Dean did eventually tell him, flat out. The day Dean left Kansas to go to Bobby’s in South Dakota, Dean confronted his father and told him, “Quit acting like it never happened, dad. I fell in love with a man; it happened, and I’m honestly glad it happened… I’m gay.”

It got him a good punch in the mouth. But that could have easily been John Winchester’s way of saying “congratulations” or “I’m happy for you,” because he’d certainly never expressed those sentiments _out loud_ before.  It was wishful thinking on Dean’s part for a good month. After a month however, Dean assumed that his dad had likely disowned him.

It was at the two month mark that Dean realized he was running out of cars to fix, and that he was getting bored. And horny. He didn’t have a desire to go looking for a random hook-up, mostly due to the fact that the only bars in the area were just about as homophobic as his father. And the thought of bringing home a woman made his skin crawl now. He had no desire for, or sexual attraction to women whatsoever.

Dean went to bed that night frustrated, and he jerked off twice before he could finally fall asleep. And as always, he thought about a strong, surly, confident man fucking him into oblivion. It had to be a man who knew that he loved to be fucked, but he also needed to have some semblance of control. He loved to know how much he affected his partner; how he made them fall apart from the pleasure his tight ass gave them. But when he jerked off he had to make a conscious effort not to think about Benny, for fear of going down a rabbit trail of sadness that would effectively derail his journey to a climax. 

 

Dean saved up a huge amount of money from his constant hard work at the yard, and in just over three month’s time he’d saved up enough to take a nice, long vacation. It was spring now and Dean was headed straight for New Orleans. He didn’t consider himself to be a hunter anymore, but this trip would be a hunt of a different kind altogether.

He wanted answers on what happened to Benny.

It was probably a dumb move to go to a city where he burned down a Coven Alliance’s hideout, but a Winchester was never the type to get scared off easily.

Dean didn’t know what to expect from a trip like this. Should he assume that Benny died three months ago? Should he look for him? Would investigating it draw too much unwanted attention?

He wouldn’t know until he went back to that hut again; the shoddy shack on the ocean; the place where he called home.

 

The hut was unoccupied. Dean’s heart sank in his chest when he realized that Benny wasn’t there, though really he didn’t truly expect him to be.

A large “For Sale by Owner” sign was taped on the window, and the ex-hunter noted down the phone number listed on it. Dean walked to the nearest payphone and grinned a little when he remembered Benny telling him that the phones were bugged.

A woman answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Yes, I’m calling about the shack that’s for sale? Is this the right number?”

“You’re interested in buying it? Oh God that was fast. Do you want a tour? I’m a _very_ motivated seller. I’m moving to Washington and I need to get it off my hands fast.”

Dean was a little confused, but he answered cordially. “A tour isn’t necessary. I’d like to buy it.”

“What! Oh my God!” The woman sounded shrill, and Dean had to hold the receiver away from his ear to spare his eardrum.

“Yes, but. If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you owned it?”

“Oh, only about a month or so. I thought I wanted to do that whole “simplify-your-life” thing but I’m just not cut out for it. Besides, the place is _super_ creepy.”

“Creepy, how?”

“Well there were old blood stains all over the kitchen, and a bunch of like, voodoo stuff strewn all over the place when I moved in. I put it all in a box and burned it but it still felt eerie, you know?”

Dean’s stomach tied in a knot upon hearing about the voodoo memorabilia. Dean had packed all of that stuff up and hid it, after outing Benny. It must have gotten unpacked again at some point. That meant someone had been rifling around in Benny’s hut sometime between that fateful night, and the woman buying the hut. Also, what about the blood stains she mentioned?

“Who did you buy the shack from?”

“The neighborhood community sort of reclaimed it and sold it to me; said it was abandoned.”

Dean frowned, feeling as thought that piece of information brought him to a dead end.

“Well I’d still like to buy it. Where do you want to meet?”

 

 

 

Three weeks later, Dean Winchester was enjoying the simple life. He ate when he was hungry, he slept when he was tired, and he went fishing every morning. He never got a hang of the whole fishing thing. He was hoping in some way to connect with his late lover by trying something that Benny was good at by trade. It worked in some ways, but Dean still never got good at it.

This particular day, Dean was feeling sentimental and he decided to walk to the restaurant where he first met Benny, many months ago. The place still smelled like curry and fish, and it was still as appealing as ever.

He sat down and ordered some Beignets and a black coffee. It wasn’t quite lunch time yet and Dean was more in the mood for a sugary breakfast than anything else. He ate and drank in silence, and tried not to think too deeply about the crazy sense of déjà vu coursing through him at a high rate of speed. He remembered everything; the whisper in his ear; the lovely, friendly demeanor of that sultry fisherman, the heroic intervention, the gentle suture job, and the kiss that started it all.

The sex was just part of the reason Dean fell in love with Benny, but it was a really, really good part. Benny knew things about Dean’s body that he didn’t know himself. He showed him how to get pleasure while giving pleasure, and how to find just the right way to please a man in bed.

And he was kind; so very kind and patient, and gentle. Those qualities were the major contributing factor in the recipe of love between them. They balanced each other out so well…

 

Dean blinked back tears, and he paid for his food and left so no one would see him cry. The spring breeze smelled amazing and Dean walked into the wind, hoping it would dry up is soggy eyes and nose. He wiped his nose with his sleeve and sniffled just as he walked away from the restaurant and up the sidewalk.

A voice cut through the air and made Dean jump.

“Pretty face like yours shouldn’t be ruined by tears.”

Dean whirled to his right, looking in complete and utter shock as he realized just who the voice belonged to.

He also realized that the man was right. And as far as he was concerned, he wouldn’t have a reason to cry ever again. 

 

“Hey there, mon cher.”

 

**The End**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely hope you enjoyed this piece. Let me know what you thought of it. Thanks for sticking with me. I have to say this was hard to finish.  
> I hate saying goodbye to my storylines when I am done.  
> Stay sexy, xoxo ~RudexAndxNotxGinger


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